


Love Bites

by mlle_notorious



Series: Harry Potter: Official Dragon Tamer [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Harry, Bottom Harry Potter, Dirty Talk, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, M/M, Not Epilogue Compliant, Rimming, Top Draco Malfoy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-19
Updated: 2020-09-17
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:00:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 51
Words: 249,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22792885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mlle_notorious/pseuds/mlle_notorious
Summary: Harry discovers Grindr and realises that he can screen his hook-ups according to his specific...needs.What happens when he finds himself staring at Draco Malfoy when he arrives for his first foray into dating apps.Started out as pure smut, but then morphed into a mystery involving a Mirror of Erised App!I really suck at summaries but promise the writing (and smut) are much better ;)
Relationships: Draco Malfoy & Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Series: Harry Potter: Official Dragon Tamer [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1927177
Comments: 1605
Kudos: 1648





	1. Introitus

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all. Short summary, but I like to keep those short and sweet. Dives fairly quickly into the "fun" stuff.  
> This is my first fic that I'm posting, so it is un-betad as yet. Would love to have a beta to help with later chapters if anyone out there is interested.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note about the title of this chapter:
> 
> Introitus: from the Latin “intro,” into, within, + “ire,” to go = “to go into.”
> 
> Definition from Wiktionary.org  
> 1\. A going in or into, entering; entrance  
> 2\. A place of entrance; passage  
> 3\. (figuratively) An entering or entrance into an office or a society  
> 4\. (figuratively) A beginning, introduction, prelude.

_Friday Evening_

_21 August 2009_

_Harry's POV_

Somewhere in the depths of my alcohol-fogged brain, a thought managed to surface, loud and clear, thankfully enough.

‘ _This is awful.’_ Michael or Matthew or whoever-the-hell was breathing heavily somewhere near my right ear, his gulps and gasps causing my hair to flap at odd intervals. He seemed to think that his hands and arms were best used to support himself and were planted rigidly on either side of my ribcage; one could have almost believed he thought I was a frail being who might be crushed if expected to uphold even the slightest portion of his weight. This notion, however, was summarily squashed thanks, or perhaps, no thanks, to the vicious rhythm he was doling out below.

And no, there had been absolutely no foreplay to speak of. Just a perfunctory slathering of lube on his fingers and a quick, almost clinical, fingering that left me far from eager, except for the fact that I was horny, so. Yeah. Here I was. Saviour of the Wizarding World being fucked mindlessly by some Muggle bloke who had no idea I had half a mind to hex his balls so that his cock would never work again and he’d never subject another poor, cock-hungry bloke to his sorry excuse for a fucking ever again.

This made me laugh - a sort of feeble chuckle that expelled itself between my own somewhat raspy breathing. Morgan or Mark thought this was a good thing.

“Mmm, yeah,” he gasped. “You like that, huh?” This time, I couldn’t stop the laughter. It bubbled up and out. Loud. Almost bark-like.

“No.” I giggled. You know how it is when you’re drunk.

“Hafta go,” I blurted out, pushing Martin or Mason off of me and struggling to stand.

“What?” I’m sure he was staring at me in a mixture of disbelief and fury, trying to come down from that pre-orgasmic high, to make sense of what was going on.

“I hafta _go,”_ I repeated, trying, as drunken fools always do, to be more articulate and failing miserably. I’d relocated my clothes and had stumbled halfway into my pants at this point. For some reason, I decided that now would be a good time to abandon said pants and start struggling into my t-shirt. Mitchell or Maxwell was stuttering somewhere in the background.

“B-but... but... you can’t just _leave,”_ he ground out finally, just as I had won the battle with my shirt. I looked at him, kneeling there on his bed, cock still hard and dripping, and thought that maybe, just maybe, I could feel sorry for him.

“Yeah. I can,” I retorted, having now managed to do up my trousers and having begun the search for my trainers. I located them and launched myself in their general direction, crashing to the ground and cramming my feet into them. There was no time to undo the laces and get them on properly, you realise.

“You’re a bloody tease, you know that?” Marcus or Milo was furious now.

“Yeah, an’ you bloody _suck_ ,” I slurred as I made my way towards the door, thanking whatever gods that be that he lived in a studio. Miles or Max continued his diatribe as I exited into the hallway and slammed the door properly, as this sort of situation called for, before stumbling down the stairs and out into the cool London air.

I ambled around for a bit, seeing at it was still plenty early. Only half-nine. Then, having walked aimlessly for what seemed an exorbitant amount of time, but which was, in all reality, only five minutes, I did what any normal, sloshed, slightly horny bloke would do.

I called another bloke.


	2. Grindr?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Harry discovers Grindr and sets up his profile. Will someone respond? (Haha, of course they will....)

_Saturday Afternoon_

_16 May 2009_

_Harry's POV_

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione giggled and looked at me fondly like I was a lost puppy, and I didn’t know whether to feel annoyed or grateful. Probably both. “Do you not know about Grindr?”

“Grinder?” I asked. “No, never heard of it. The fuck is Grinder?”   
“Well...” Hermione paused & bit her lip. “It’s a Muggle app for... finding... men.”

I stared at her for a moment.

“And?”

“Well. You might want to give it a go, is all,” she said, smiling as she took a sip of her tea.

I was at the flat she shared with Ron for our regular Saturday afternoon tea and had been lamenting the awful luck I’d been having with the men I’d been pulling recently.

“I don’t need any stupid app to find a bloke, Hermione,” I huffed.

“Well, no,” she paused and shot a cautious glance in my direction.

“What?”

“It’s just that... with the app, I mean, I’m not 100% sure... as I’ve never used it... but, erm, I think you can set things to your... preferences. Or, you know, at least... swipe left on the ones who aren’t your type?” she offered, blushing slightly.

“What the hell are you going on about, my type,” I demanded, fixing her with my best glare. She had the decency to blush and look sheepish as she stirred her tea.

“You know....” she murmured.

“No, Hermione, I don’t know,” I snapped, taking a gulp from my own cup. “I don’t have a goddamn type, unless you mean incredibly fit and male. Those are really about my only requirements.” So The-Boy-Who-Lived turned out to be a bit of a slut. So what?

“Oi, mate, she’s talking about your size obsession,” Ron bellowed from the kitchen as he returned with a plate piled with biscuits and sandwiches. It was his second round, of course.

“I do _not_ have a size obsession,” I informed them with a roll of my eyes.

Truthfully, I did, but hell if I was going to _admit_ that to either of them.

“But if I’m going to go through the trouble of taking it up the arse, I’d much rather I could feel it.”

Ron pulled a face.

“I mean, honestly, Harry, I’d imagine you can feel just about anything going _up_ your arse.”

I didn’t even deign Ron a response. Just flipped him the bird as I drained my tea then reached for a sandwich from his plate.

“Harry....” Hermione had that look on her face that she got when she was about to win you because she was Hermione and everything she said was right.

“You kicked a bloke out of your flat after bringing him home because he didn’t quite measure up....”

“He. Was. This. Big!” I snapped, holding my pinky finger in front of Hermione’s face.

“I’m not even kidding. Micro-dicks are a thing. Look it up. He had no business parading around as a top with a dick that size.”

Hermione just continued to look at me with that expression and Ron sniggered around his mouthful of biscuit earning himself another glare.

“Well, then, this app would certainly make sure you don’t ever encounter a similar situation ever again,” Hermione assured me with a knowing smile that made me shift my glare to her and steal another sandwich from Ron.

An app, hmm?. A Muggle app, that I could use to find my perfect bloke, who had no idea I was Harry Fucking Potter? Too good to be true. I shook my head.

“What’s swipe left mean?”

“Oh. Well, you see pictures and you swipe right on your phone if you think he’s cute... or, you know, you, erm, like what you see?”

“And... left, I suppose if I don’t?” I clarified. Hermione nodded.

“That’s great, ‘Mione, with one exception. I mean, I know it’s a Muggle thing, but I don’t want my face out there, you know? What if another Wizard sees me?”

I was out to my friends and my teammates at Montrose but was already dreading the day when the Prophet would figure it out and have a field day with that juicy tidbit. I was hoping it would be once I’d decided to settle down with someone; I definitely didn’t want it to be because some other wizard had seen my profile on a Muggle hook-up app.

“Well...” Hermione smiled slyly. “As far as I know, lots of blokes post photos without their faces in it. No one would suspect a thing.”

***

I went home and spent about a half-hour having my phone take pictures of me at my best angles ensuring that no shots that would identify me since I was sure other wizards had to use the app.

I had to admit the photos turned out pretty nicely.

I’d filled out quite a bit since the Final Battle; a combination of eating regular meals, working out for Quidditch training, and finally giving a shit.

I actually looked good.

Instead of Dudley’s stupid hand-me-downs, I now wore clothes that fit me.

Thanks to Ginny, I had jeans that hugged my arse and showcased the muscle of my thighs and knew to wear t-shirts or button-downs that fit properly and accentuated my sleek frame. I’d had no idea what Ginny was talking about when she’d told me this at first, but I’d had ridiculous success pulling blokes, so I figured she knew what she was talking about in the clothing department.

She’d also decided I needed to get my eyesight fixed, so I'd subjected myself to the slightly scary experience of having a Medi-Wizard fire a few spells at me to correct my vision.

Apparently, my eyes were gorgeous and take up my entire face, now that the glasses are gone.

The hair, unfortunately, was still a mess. I’d pretty much given up on that.

I sighed and unlocked my iPhone to download the Grindr app.

I hated this part. Creating a profile. Ugh. I had half a mind to ask Hermione for help. 

I decided to keep it simple and straight-forward.

 _Gay, Bottom, Fit, Black hair, Green eyes, Perfect BJ mouth (so I’ve been told), mild sub-_ _dom_ _ & dirty talk ok. _

_Height: 177cm_

_Weight: 72kg_

_Body Type: Muscular_

_Gender: Man_

_Pronouns: he/him/his_ (I seriously considered entering “Saviour,” honestly)

_Position: Bottom (mostly)_

_I Am: Single_

_Looking For: hookups_

I read it over, then, because this was all supposed to help me find “my type” and my identity would be anonymous until we agreed to meet, I huffed a sigh and made the following addition to my little “profile” at the top:

_Size does fucking matter._

Well. That had been easy enough, I suppose. Now all I had to do was wait.

***

_Monday, 18 May 2009_

My phone pinged, and I sat up, alert. 

I had, of course, spent the afternoon swiping left and right and had initiated a few chats, but I wasn’t really expecting a response so quickly. Certainly not now, while I was grabbing a quick bite with Ron and Hermione on their lunch break from their jobs at the Ministry.

Ron was an Auror, of course, and Hermione was an Unspeakable in the Department of Mysteries. Neither Ron nor I even knew which department she worked for. Love? Thought? Time? Death? It could be any of them, honestly. 

“So soon?” Ron sniggered, and I smacked him across the back of his head, as deemed necessary.

“Shut up, arse” I muttered, pulling out my phone.

It was a response from a bloke whose profile identified him as a top with blond hair and blue-ish eyes and who was highly proficient in dirty talk and had a dick that was definitely worth the effort. We’d see about that.

Good. Fucking. Merlin.

God.

Hecate.

Lilith.

Allah.

Whoever.

I stared open-mouthed for a second before snapping my mouth shut. 

It was a hand loosely curled around what appeared to be the largest, thickest cock I’d seen in my life. Either that or this bloke had hands the size of a baby’s.

The photo was black-and-white, which made it almost seem artsy and not as crude as sending a colour one would have been, for some reason.

His hand was wrapped just about halfway up, as though he’d snapped the photo mid-stroke at the beginning of a good wank. You could see the thick base rising out of a tidy patch of pubic hair before disappearing into his closed fist, continuing up, up, up to a flared, wide head that was, frankly, begging my mouth for a slow, leisurely suck. 

This cock was fucking perfect. And it would be in me by end of night. Swipe fucking right, indeed.

“Well, Harry, any luck?” Hermione asked, smirking at my face. Christ.

“Um, maybe,” I lied, tucking my mobile back into my pocket. “We’ll see.”


	3. The Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry finds out who the owner of this perfect cock is, aka, the fun starts now.

_Monday Evening_

_18 May 2009_

_Harry's POV_

At 7:53, I found myself standing nervously outside a room at the Henrietta Hotel in Muggle London, which struck me as a rather nice place for this sort of thing.

I took a deep breath, rolled my head to crack my neck a bit, then raised my hand to knock. He’d said 20h sharp, after all.

Less than a minute later, my night came crashing down around me. 

Thanks, Hermione. This Grindr app was your worst idea ever.

***

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

I would have recognised that voice anywhere, even if he hadn’t been standing right in front of me, face aghast and twisted into the customary sneer he seemed to reserve just for me.

“ _Malfoy_?” This couldn’t be happening. “The fuck.”

I shoved my way past him and into the room, heading straight for the minibar.

“What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?”

“I need a fucking drink,” I growled, grabbing a bottle of whiskey, quickly unscrewing the cap, and raising it to my mouth to take a sip.

“Really, Potter, you can’t drink that from the bottle, you uncouth brute,” Malfoy scolded me, grasping the bottle mid-sip and taking it from me gently. “Would you prefer it neat or on ice?”

I stared at him.

“What?”

“Neat, or on ice?” he repeated.

“... just give me some whiskey,” I muttered, not really understanding his question.

Malfoy sighed and rolled his eyes.

“Do you want your whiskey at room temperature or with some ice, you sodding idiot?”

“Oh. Erm. I suppose some ice would be nice,” I clarified, then watched as Malfoy reached out to grab two rocks glasses and placed a giant cube of ice in each.

He smirked and glanced over at me.

“Shall I make it two fingers or three?” he asked, quirking a brow. 

“Funny,” I retorted, allowing myself a grin. “I’ll let you guess.”

He measured a generous pour of whiskey into each glass, then handed one to me while cradling his own in his hand, a slightly predatory look on his face.

“So...” he began nonchalantly swirling his whiskey, looking every bit the aristocratic pureblood that he was, leaning against the bar.

He was wearing a light-blue button-down, sleeves rolled up casually, that made his pale skin almost radiant and his legs were crossed and encased in charcoal-grey trousers that looked as though they’d been tailored to showcase their length.

His feet were bare, pale and slender, against the wood floor, with an impossibly high arch that made me think of Roman statues I’d seen in museums; I briefly wondered if his legs would also be sculpted marble perfection. 

His face had filled out a bit since Hogwarts, still a little pointy, but handsome, with blue-grey eyes that could only be described as “bedroom,” a thin, perfectly sculpted nose, and a wide, rosy mouth with a slightly thicker lower lip that I could imagine grabbing between my teeth and then soothing with my tongue all too easily.

“Harry Potter is gagging for cock.”

He smirked at me, raising the glass to his lips and taking a sip as he sat on the couch and gestured for me to do the same.

I, of course, ignored this and continued to lounge against the bar.

“I assure you, Malfoy, I most certainly do not gag.”

Malfoy smirked.

“Are you sure? I’d love to try and make you,” he countered, crossing his legs, his tone as casual as if we were discussing the weather.

I started a bit at that.

Oh. So this was happening?

“Was that picture really you?” I asked, hoping to sound casual.

That cock was perfect, and I wasn’t sure I wanted it to be Malfoy’s or not.

I mean, I _wanted_ that cock, but I was half-hoping it wasn’t actually attached to Malfoy of all people.

“Why? Saw something you liked?” he asked, smirking at me.

“Just curious,” I mumbled, taking another sip of whiskey.

“What is it with you size queens?” Malfoy asked, setting his glass on the coffee table in front of him and fixing me with an earnest stare.

“I mean, is it a mental thing just to say you did it, or do you actually enjoy the feeling of a cock practically splitting you in two?”

Apparently my face had given me away because next second Malfoy snorted with laughter and smirked again.

“Well, that answered that....”

There was a moment of silence where we both stared at random points on the floor and sipped our drinks.

Then Malfoy pulled out his phone, and I recognised the Grindr app as he pulled it open.

“What are you doing?”

“Looking for another hookup,” he replied, glancing at me as though this should have been obvious.

“Why?”

“Potter, do I really need to explain to you why this would be a horrible idea?” he asked, lolling his head over to look at me pointedly.

“Perhaps.” I mean, he did have that cock, and I was horny.

“We hate each other,” Malfoy stated.

“So?”

“You’re a Gryffindor.”

“I’ve no idea what that has to do with anything.”

Malfoy frowned slightly and swirled his glass but didn’t offer any explanation.

“The Sorting Hat wanted to put me in Slytherin,” I told him, grinning.

His brows shot up at that.

“Twice,” I added smugly, remembering Second year when I’d found it in Dumbledore’s office.

“How’d you convince it otherwise?” he asked, interested, and I wondered if anyone else had ever convinced the Sorting Hat to put them in a different house.

“I suppose I used my ‘cunning’ to convince it to put me elsewhere,” I retorted cheekily.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” I added, deciding this was the proper moment to remove my t-shirt and close the distance between us. I threw the shirt somewhere over my shoulder and quickly moved to straddle him, plucking the glass from his hand and setting it on the table behind me.

“The fuck are you doing, Potter?” he spat out, grey eyes flashing.

That made me grin.

This was the Malfoy I knew. This was familiar.

“Getting comfortable,” I replied, rising up to a kneeling position so that my hips were in line with his face.

Several of my photos were of my hip and lower abdomen area with its pleasure trail and twin indentations forming a “V” that disappeared below the band of my trousers. I’d been told a few times that blokes loved this part of me.

Might as well lead with the best, I guess.

It seemed to have worked, somewhat.

Malfoy’s eyes snapped instantly to the muscles running down my sides towards my groin and he licked his lips unconsciously.

“Potter,” he said cautiously. “Again, do I need to explain to you why this is an awful idea?”

His gaze was still riveted at my hips and crotch area, so I supposed this was a good sign.

“No,” I replied, bending down to nip lightly at his mouth but not staying long enough for him to capture my lips.

He tried, I noted triumphantly.

“I’m fully aware. But...” I nipped at his mouth again, letting him get a swipe at my bottom lip before rising up again to smirk down at him.

“I’m horny as fuck and if that cock’s really yours, I can’t care less.”

I allowed myself the pleasure of grinding down on his crotch then and noted that he was semi-hard. And good fucking Merlin, if his half-hard cock was any indication, he was every bit as hung and gloriously wide as his photos suggested.

I hadn’t even realised I’d moaned, like a wanton, cock-hungry slut, until Malfoy pointed it out, in those exact words.

I also hadn’t realised that I, apparently, loved filthy talk.

“Look at you. Still grinding yourself on me and moaning like it’s the most amazing thing you’ve ever felt. Like you’re not grinding your arse on ex-Death-Eater-cock,” he said silkily, hips rising to meet my downwards thrusts.

I just groaned in response and pushed down harder. I mean, if he had me pegged, why argue?

“Get on your knees,” he commanded, hands clamping down on my hips to still me from grinding down once more on his beautifully filling cock.

“Wha?” I half-articulated and half-moaned.

“You heard me.”

My eyes snapped open to stare into his lust-blown grey ones. There were streaks of light blue in them, and a greenish ring around his pupils that were huge and staring at me.

“You’re going to strip naked. And you’ll kneel on the floor. And you’re going to suck my cock,” he explained slowly.

“Cause I’m positive that pretty mouth of yours was made for it,” he added, lifting a hand to trace along my lower lip with one slender finger.

I clambered off of Malfoy’s lap and wandlessly shed both my trousers and pants before kneeling to the side of the couch, knees spread wide, head tilted back and responded:

“Care to find out?”

Malfoy shuddered visibly, and I smirked back at him with, what I hoped, was a Malfoy-esque stare.

“Close your eyes,” he commanded, unbuttoning his shirt and tossing it aside as he stood.

Fuck, he was fit.

Even without the perfect cock, Malfoy would’ve been a good pull.

His hands moved down to his trousers and I bit my lip, unknowingly, as I followed the movement.

“Eager, are we?” he asked, smirking as long, slender fingers undid the button and fly of his trousers and they fell, leaving me with the absolutely mind-blowing sight of a nearly naked Malfoy, the perfect amount of muscle and sinew and yes, he did look exactly like those statues at the museum, perfectly sculpted marble, with an obviously giant cock filling out his pants.

I couldn’t really even deny it at that point.

I’m pretty sure I whimpered as I imagined sliding my mouth around that cock.

I was visibly excited by the thought of sucking Malfoy off before he slid those long fingers into me to open me up before he fucked me wide open with that ridiculous cock of his.

 _Fuck_.

How the fuck had Malfoy been blessed with a cock like that?

Malfoy moved closer to me, hand fondling his dick and stroking it lightly through his pants.

I definitely moaned.

I wanted his cock. Good. Fucking. Lord. I was already so far gone I couldn’t even care.

“Close. Your. Eyes.”

Oh. Right.

I obeyed, having no idea why I was trusting Malfoy with my eyes closed aside from the fact that he had a fabulous cock, and that it was hard for me, and that he thought my mouth made for sucking it.

Malfoy moved silently, apparently.

I had no idea where he was, and then suddenly, his hand was carding through my hair and his stupid, posh accent said:

“Just the tip.”

Bastard.

I leant forward, seeking that beautiful cock I’d been salivating over for hours, and was met with a gorgeously thick, plump head sliding slowly along my bottom lip.

I definitely moaned as I slipped it into my mouth. Just the tip, as instructed, sucking gently, tongue swirling into the slit to gather the salty pre-cum pooling there.

I’m completely sure I moaned because, Holy Hecate, this was the most amazing dick I’d had the pleasure of sucking in my life. 

And this was just the tip. 

I reached out and began to smooth my hands up Malfoy’s thighs, around his waist, circling down to fondle his pert arse, not with any particular aim, just to feel his muscles flexing and bunching as my mouth worked over him.

Malfoy shuddered above me and I continued to suck and lick at the tip, as he’d ordered.

A distant thought in my mind asked when I’d decided to follow Malfoy’s commands, but there was something wonderfully arousing about following his instructions, so I did.

There was also the excitement and slight punishment of only being able to suck at the head of Malfoy’s incredible cock.

I could imagine the heavy, thick length of it stretching out before me and I groaned and thought briefly of reaching behind and fingering myself while imagining that beautiful cock in me.

Merlin. Fucking. Dammit.

I needed more than just the tip.

Without asking or giving any warning, I began to side my mouth down around Malfoy’s ridiculous length.

“You utter slag,” Malfoy spat out, left hand twisting in my hair and holding me in place as he began to fuck my mouth, thrusting about a third of the way in. Slowly, teasing me with it.

Of course, I moaned.

I fucking loved it.

“You love having that pretty mouth of yours stuffed full of my cock, don’t you?” he demanded.

I couldn’t do anything but groan again as I opened my eyes to look at Malfoy while he gently fucked my face with his cock.

I shook my head as I reached the end of his dick and he took the hint and pulled my mouth off of him.

“I want more. All of it.”

I was beyond even caring; I just wanted that cock filling my mouth, my arse, just...

Malfoy didn’t disappoint and began thrusting, still using slow, measured thrusts, into my mouth, deeper than he’d been going before but still not all the way.

Me, being the cock-slut that I am, just moaned again and leant forward to take more.

Jesus, Harry. Such a fucking slag.

Malfoy took the hint and slid his cock in further until he hit the back of my throat and I swallowed wickedly, winking up at him around my mouthful of cock as my nose finally made contact with his pubic hair.

Goddamn, he was huge.

“You fucking love this.” Malfoy’s voice didn’t even sound strained, the fucking arsehole.

“You could suck my cock for hours, couldn’t you?” he demanded.

“You fucking love it. Sucking my cock.”

He accentuated this by thrusting his other hand into my hair to hold me in place as he began fucking my face, pushing his entire length into my greedy mouth and down my throat each time, then retreating so that just the tip remained encased by my lips.

I just moaned again and enjoyed each slow glide in and out of my mouth, sucking and pressing the flat of my tongue to the underside of his cock, swirling around the head lazily every few thrusts. 

He was right, of course.

I did love this.

I could do this for hours. 

Yes, please. Green light. Swipe right.

“Fuck, Potter,” he groaned, finally sounding affected. “Fuck being the Boy-Who-Lived and fuck Voldemort. I’m pretty sure you were put on this earth to suck cock.” 

I managed to roll my eyes at him all while still sucking his cock then pulled back and teased at his head, which was leaking pre-cum at this point, lapping it up with short, wide strokes of my tongue, sucking at the entire tip every few strokes, knowing exactly the picture I made with my mouth stretched out and sucking longingly.

Malfoy’s hands were still tangled in my hair but he’d loosened his grip. I looked up and saw him staring down at me, eyes half-lidded and jaw slack with lust, and reached up, tightening his grip on my hair.

He took the hint and almost gently caressed the back of my head with one hand while the other renewed its grip on my hair and he began to fuck my face in earnest.

“Is this what you wanted, Potter?” he gasped, cock pistoning in and out of my mouth.

I could only groan again in response and I reached down to wrap my hand around my own leaking cock.

Malfoy’s hand loosed itself from my hair to swat it away.

“Don’t you fucking dare, Potter,” he ground out, hand twisting back into my hair. “That cock is mine.”

Again, I obeyed, because apparently all it took to subdue The-Boy-Who-Lived was a giant cock and an authoritative voice.

Merlin, I was easy sometimes.

Malfoy stopped abruptly, and I made a noise at the loss of his dick in my mouth and he glanced at me knowingly while reaching down and yanking me up by my arm.

“Don’t worry, kitten,” he murmured, nipping along the side of my neck, earning him another lust-ridden moan as our cocks bumped together.

“We’re just moving over to the bed.” Another nip, just below my left ear as his hands smoothed down my back.

“As wonderful as your mouth is, I’m quite interested in exploring this gorgeous arse of yours.”

His hands reached down and slowly squeezed my cheeks as he gave a lick up my neck, along the cord that ran from the base up to my ear before delivering a hard, quick bite and suck just beneath my ear that was sure to leave a mark.

Then Malfoy turned and shoved me towards the bed and I stumbled over, impatiently flinging back the comforter.

He manoeuvred me to lay face-down on the mattress, grabbing a pillow to stuff beneath my hips and I ground myself shamelessly into it.

“Slut,” Malfoy chided, almost affectionately, with a light smack to my arse.

I didn’t respond except to roll my hips again, pushing my arse up in a silent plea.

I felt the mattress sink as Malfoy moved to straddle me, sinking down so he was not quite sitting at the juncture of my arse and thighs. He leant forward so I could feel the heavy weight of his cock teasing along my crack and I moaned and rolled my hips back up into him. The faintest ghost of lips caressed the back of my neck, leaving a trail down my spine, teasing, until finally, a slower kiss, with the barest glide of velvety tongue, at the base of my spine before Malfoy spread me open.

“Merlin, you look incredible like this,” he murmured, and I practically purred at his praise, pushing against his hands to open me even wider.

I had stopped caring ages ago about looking like an utter cock-starved harlot.

I felt the brief tickle of a cleansing and a few protective spells and my eyes flickered shut at the thrill that ran through me at that display of power.

Malfoy could do wandless magic?

“Shame we can’t do that with a muggle pull, isn’t it?”

I could just hear the smirk in his voice.

Next moment, I was rewarded with a slow, almost reverent lick from my balls, all the way up, maddeningly slow, pausing slightly at my hole and stopping finally at the base of my spine where he left another little open-mouthed kiss before returning to repeat the motion again. And again.

I was about to cry with want and then I felt him swirl his tongue around my opening, licking and lapping at my hole, lazily, as though he could, and would, do this all night.

“Fuck, Malfoy,” I begged.

He ignored me and continued to lick around and over my opening leisurely, with no set rhythm, as though he was savouring a treat and wanted to enjoy every last bit of it.

“You’re pink,” he murmured against my cheek.

An off-hand observation that, for some reason, made me blush, despite the fact that the man currently had his face buried between my arsecheeks.

“What?”

“You’re pink,” he stated again, a finger tracing slowly down my crack, pausing to press gently against my, apparently, pink furl, before moving to spread me open again and his mouth was back, fastening around me, licking and sucking, kissing me, and _fuck_ , he was goddamn amazing at this.

I didn’t even think to try not to buck my hips up and back into his mouth, begging for more.

“Merlin, you look good like this,” he muttered, licking again, hands digging into my hips to hold me still while his thumbs kept me spread open for him.

“All spread open.” Lick.

“Body begging like the greedy cock-slut you are.” Lick.

“You’re fucking _wrecked_ and I’ve only just started.”

An embarrassingly high whine came out of me at the slower, almost obscene lick that followed this statement, pausing to swirl and curl into me.

But, as Malfoy had so eloquently pointed out, I was wrecked beyond caring what I sounded like so long as he didn’t fucking stop.

His tongue sharpened then and began thrusting at my hole straight on now, demanding entrance, and I whined again as I felt his tongue ease through the first ring of muscle, the hot, wet, velvet of it caressing my insides. And then he was fucking me with it and I babbled incoherently about “ _more_ ” and “ _yes_ ” and “ _fuck_ ” and “ _gods_ ” and “Malfoy, _please_ ,” while he continued to fuck me with that absolutely wicked tongue of his.

Suddenly two fingers were pushing into my mouth and I eagerly sucked them in, licking and slurping as though my life depended on it.

Hell. With a cock that big, my arse and ability to sit tomorrow certainly did.

Malfoy removed the fingers almost as suddenly as he’d introduced them and I let them slip from my mouth with a little pop.

He gave a final lick from my balls and up to suck gently at my hole before I felt the tip of his finger circling it gently. I pressed back against it, already so relaxed from Malfoy’s expert mouth, and felt him push through the tight ring of muscle.

He withdrew it slowly, and I briefly wondered if he’d figured out that this maddeningly slow pace was driving me insane or if this was how he fucked all of his Grindr finds.

“Gods, how the fuck are you so tight?” Malfoy’s breath fluttered against my arsecheek as he slid his finger slowly in and out.

I didn’t... couldn’t respond, and hoped the question was rhetorical as I pushed back, silently (ok, silently, aside from the now nearly constant moaning) asking for more.

“I know what sized things you like to fit into this hole, Potter,” Malfoy continued, adding a second finger and _finally,_ groaning himself as his fingers were encased in my tight hole.

“Fuck,” he twisted his fingers wickedly inside of me and I let out a particularly spectacular moan that I’m sure left our neighbours with no doubts as to what we were up to.

“Your arse is incredible.”

I responded only by moaning and rocking my hips up and back in an attempt to get more of those deliciously long fingers inside of me.

“Please,” I begged, rocking up again, but Malfoy withdrew his fingers as I bucked up so that no more than half of their length remained inside of me at any given moment.

Fuckwad.

“What?” he demanded.

“What is it that you need, Potter?” he asked silkily, finally sliding both fingers all the way in and giving a wicked twist, before withdrawing them completely.

“No,” I gasped, arse rising up in the direction of his missing fingers.

“What? Why? The fuck, Malfoy...” I groaned, only to groan even more loudly when I felt his tongue licking hungrily at my hole again.

He swirled it around then pushed back inside and began to tongue-fuck me savagely, his whole face moving backwards and forwards in order to jab his wicked tongue in and out of my hole with an almost scandalous amount of enjoyment.

He moaned against my hole, stopping the vicious tongue-fucking to, literally, kiss me in the most obscene and thorough manner, tongue swirling and dipping into me, licking and lapping inside of me, all while he was moaning and groaning so that I could feel the vibrations throughout my whole body.

I responded by groaning and shoving my arse back into his face. He continued with the lapping and the sucking and the tongue-fucking, his moans and groans only feeding me to grind back and up.

I’d completely stopped considering the neighbours if we had any.

Without any warning, his mouth was gone again, only to be replaced by two of Malfoy’s fingers that began to fuck me urgently, scissoring and twisting so that I was a completely useless heap of whimpering, moaning, cock-hungry idiot.

His fingers curled downwards, searching until he found that spot which had me seeing stars and I nearly screamed.

He continued to drag those wicked fingers along that spot on every thrust and I was, literally, panting and screaming with need.

“That good, Potter?” he demanded, fingers twisting viciously and angling towards _that_ spot. 

"You love that, don’t you?” he added, fingers still fucking me violently.

Me still moaning and panting and being entirely too loud.

“Fuck, Malfoy,” I gasped. “Please. Oh, fuck. Gods.... _please_!”

Of course, Malfoy didn’t comply. Merely kept twisting those long fingers inside of me as I twitched and writhed with need for him.

The bastard merely bent down and began fucking me with his mouth again, digging both thumbs into my hole, that devilish tongue darting in and out between the fingers he was using to prise me open and I whimpered in a way I hadn’t even known was possible. 

When he finally detached his mouth from my arse, his tongue was instantly replaced by three of his fingers.

I didn’t think I could handle much more. My eyes were positively rolling back in my head as he slowed his pace and began fucking me, slowly, with his fingers.

“Faster,” I growled.

Malfoy only chuckled.

“Fuck, Malfoy, I’m not kidding.”

“I know you’re not,” he assured me, fingers still leisurely moving in and out of me, twisting downwards and brushing my prostate occasionally, almost as an afterthought.

“Honestly, if you weren’t so fucking mind-blowingly hot when you’re desperate and wanton, I’d probably be fucking you already,” Malfoy continued, still insisting on that maddening, almost-too-slow slide in and out of me.

“What?” I was proud of how articulate I was.

For real. No sarcasm.

I even managed to sort of look round back at him and stare, although my face was probably so lust-blown there was none of the indignation or upset I’d hoped to convey.

“I like playing with you, Potter,” he grinned and gave a particularly well-timed, well-aimed twist of his fingers that had me moaning, arching my back and pushing back against his fingers.

“Merlin, you’re even better than I could have possibly imagined. Look at you, fucking yourself on my fingers.”

It wasn’t a command, but I followed it, all the same, pushing myself back onto his fingers and pulling myself off of them at an excruciatingly slow pace, hoping he was enjoying the view as much as I was enjoying making it.

“Fuck, Potter,” he practically sighed, hands tucking beneath my hipbones to lift me so I was raised on all fours, arse spread before him.

“I can’t wait to feel that impossibly tight arse of yours opening around me.”

“ _Please_.” It was all I could manage.

Malfoy, the fucking bastard, bent down for one final lick at my hole, before nudging the head of his giant cock at my opening.

He pushed gently, and I sighed, knowing I was way beyond relaxed and ready for this.

His head pushed through, gently, and I groaned. 

Gods, it felt so goddamned good.

Arsehole pulled out immediately.

Slut that I am, I made some stupid noise that showed how upset I was from the loss.

“Slut,” he murmured again, smacking my arse as he pushed back in, this time going further, pushing in slowly, centimetre by centimetre, achingly slow.

I tried pushing back to hurry him along and the fucking asshole placed his hands on both my hips to hold me steady as he continued to push in about halfway.

Then he withdrew completely, and began the whole goddamned process again, just as slowly, and I let out a litany of expletives and whines about how unfair everything in the entire goddamn universe was.

“Tell me, Potter,” he asked, still coherent. Still casual. He slowly eased his cock into me just a bit before withdrawing and continuing. 

“When did you figure out you were such a massive cock-slut?”

“Gnnnah!”

I’m sure it wasn’t the answer he was looking for, but that was the answer he was getting, apparently.

“What was that?” he asked, sliding in again, this time a little further, and I shoved back, hoping to get more of that amazing cock inside of me.

“Ah-ah-ah,” he crooned, hands holding my hips still.

“Patience, kitten.” He withdrew his entire length and next I knew, his mouth was fastened to my hole again, tongue swirling and I’m sure my eyes rolled back in my head. 

Apparently Malfoy had a rimming fetish.

Who the fuck was I to complain?

“You fucking slut, Potter,” he sighed, hands fastening to my hips again as he rose up and lined his dick up with my hole.

“Yes, oh, fuck, Merlin, yes,” I babbled, nearly incoherent.

“What do you want?” he asked, gently circling the head of his cock around my hole. Like he didn’t fucking know what I fucking wanted.

He pushed forward again, that ridiculously long, wide cock of his pushing through me almost easily this time. He continued to push forward, more, and more.

He paused a second when he was just over half-way in and stroked my flank.

A silent question.

I responded by pushing backwards gently, my arse swallowing another centimetre of Malfoy’s obscene cock and he sighed happily and pushed in a bit further.

“Gods, you’re fucking tight, Potter,” he muttered, and I wished I could see his face right now because I’m sure his eyes were closed and I’m sure he might look as lust-blown as I did.

Malfoy continued to press forward, centimetre by centimetre, and I willed myself to hold still lest he stop again.

He didn’t and kept pushing forwards and I gasped when his cock breached new territory.

Gods, he was huge, and I loved it.

It was tender but wonderful and I pushed back earnestly, welcoming the stretch and burn.

“Fuck,” he murmured above me as his balls finally nestled against my arse.

He rested there for a bit, waiting for me to adjust to him, and I closed my eyes and smiled at the feeling of having him fully inside of me.

I supposed I really couldn’t deny being a size queen at this point, content and blissed out as I was with what had to be at least a 25-centimetre cock nestled in my arse.

And when I was ready, I drew my hips forward slightly.

“I’m ready,” I gasped, sliding myself back down the length of him that I’d just pulled away from.

He didn’t move, so I accentuated my statement by dragging myself slowly along his length, slowly pulling him from my body, squeezing viciously as I reached the head.

He let out a quiet sob, and I smirked to myself before guiding myself back along his dick, all the way to his balls, then back up, squeezing and sighing the entire way.

One, two, three rounds back and forth along that incredible dick before his hands snapped up and grabbed me, rendering me completely immobile.

“Fuck me.” I’m not sure if it was a beg, a command, or a wish.

But I meant it, whatever it was.

Malfoy responded by thrusting into me, not too quickly, but surely, until he was fully inside of me and I managed to drag in a shaky breath before he withdrew completely, and then plunged back in again.

“Oh _fuck_ yes,” I bellowed.

This was fucking amazing, I thought, dazed, as Malfoy drew back, my arse letting him out with an obscene pop, before he plunged back in, groaning:

“Gods, Potter, how is your arse so fucking _perfect_?” 

I assumed that question was also rhetorical and sank the top half of me down into the mattress, angling my hips for an even deeper penetration. 

_Such_ a cock-slut. 

Malfoy needed no further invitation and began fucking me purposefully, setting a steady rhythm of long, sure strokes, searching for the right angle so that his thick head would catch that spot on each stroke.

Once he’d found it, he picked up the pace and began pounding into my arse relentlessly. I could only moan and thrust back to meet him, to encourage him to never, ever stop, because surely this was the best goddam dicking I’d ever had.

My cock was positively dripping, and I knew I wasn’t going to last much longer.

I could feel my orgasm already coiling and building and I squeezed my eyes shut to brace myself for it when it hit.

Malfoy, somehow, was managing a litany of filth despite fucking me so hard and fast into the mattress that I could barely breathe. 

“You fucking slut, Potter. Absolutely dying for my cock. Tell me, is this deep enough for you?” he slammed in and twisted his hips to fuck himself even further into me at that, and I could only cry out my pleasure.

He slammed in again.

“I bet I could stop right now and you’d just keep fucking yourself on me. I don’t even know why I’m putting in all this effort,” he panted. 

Thankfully, he didn’t stop and saved me the embarrassment of proving him absolutely right.

I was already thrusting up and back to meet the slam of his hips with each thrust and I again reached my hand down to grab at my dick.

Malfoy swatted it away immediately.

“What did I tell you earlier?” he growled, slamming into me even more viciously, if that was even possible.

“Hands off. You’re going to cum from just my cock fucking you wide open, aren’t you? I want to feel this sweet arse of yours clenching around me and hear you scream in absolute bliss knowing it was just. My. Cock.” 

He slowed and accentuated those last three words with three, long, deep thrusts that left me gasping and almost dizzy with want.

Malfoy withdrew completely, and I jerked up, making a noise of complaint, whipping my head around to look at him frantically.

“Just think, Potter, the fun we could’ve had at school if only I’d thought to push your buttons differently,” he teased, sliding two long fingers back inside of me.

I groaned and my eyes fluttered shut. 

The bastard was going to kill me; I was sure of it.

Voldemort might be dead and gone but there were still supporters lurking and Malfoy had to have been hired by them to, literally, fuck me to death.

I hadn’t realised I’d been moaning this out loud until I heard Malfoy chuckle as he continued to leisurely fuck his fingers into my arse, making obscene squelching noises with each twist and flick of his wrist.

“I most certainly do not support anyone stupid enough to follow a dead, megalomaniac, madman,” he assured me, lowering himself so his face was level with my arse again, surely watching his fingers sliding in and out of me. 

“But if I were trying to kill you, would this be such a bad way to go?” he asked softly, adding a third finger that slipped in easily alongside the other two, tongue reaching out to lave at that sensitive spot just behind my balls.

His mouth followed with a lewd suck and I cried out again and had to admit that, no, being fucked to death by Malfoy would not be such a terrible way to go.

Malfoy flipped me over suddenly and rearranged the pillow beneath my hips, pushing my legs to bend up and out at the knees, spreading me wide open. 

I hadn’t even realised my hand was grabbing for myself again until.

“Potter…” he chided, raising a slender brow.

I groaned in frustration and rocked my hips upwards, flinging my left arm over my face in some sort of a feeble attempt at protest.

“What was that?” he asked, face turning to nuzzle that ticklish spot behind my right knee. His lips trailed downwards, following my thigh at a maddeningly slow pace as he sank to his knees before me again.

“Stop being a tease, Malfoy,” I managed to grind out before he licked a wide stripe up my cock.

“I’m sorry,” he said, swirling his tongue around my head and giving it a brief suck.

“I didn’t quite catch that,” another slow, wide lick before lapping at the sensitive spot where head meets shaft.

“It sounded like,” he continued. Another lick.

“You were calling me.” Lick

"A tease.” 

He paused here and swallowed me in one go and Holy fuck, I’d been smug about my lack of a gag reflex but apparently Malfoy didn’t have one either and fuck, but his mouth was brilliant.

He popped off and swirled his tongue around my head again. 

“Which is entirely false,” he added, sucking down again, cheeks hollowing as he slowly slid back up, and it took me a second to even remember what he was blabbing on about.

“We both know _you’re_ the tease, Potter,” he went on conversationally and I didn’t even understand how the prat was even putting together complete sentences right now because my brain certainly wasn’t capable.

Malfoy paused long enough to suck me back down, eyes fluttering shut as he hummed in pleasure.

“I’m not,” I gasped. “I’m…. I don’t…”

“Oh, but you are,” he countered seriously, rising up to look at me.

“I…”

“Look at you, with those come-fuck-me eyes.” I squeezed them shut, as though that might help.

“Your come-fuck-me mouth,” Malfoy continued, tracing my bottom lip with his thumb and when I tried desperately to suck it into my mouth Malfoy gave me a light swat on the cheek that, somehow, only turned me on more.

“See?” Malfoy smirked and touched his thumb to my mouth again, this time allowing me to take the digit into my mouth, allowing me to suck on it lightly as I moaned again. His eyes went a shade darker as he watched me shamelessly suck on his thumb for a few seconds.

“And then there’s all those noises you make,” his eyes shut and he swallowed visibly. “Do you have any fucking _idea_ , Potter?”

I groaned around his thumb in response. 

“I’ve already told you, I’d have fucked you senseless, and we’d be done already if you didn’t keep making all those beautiful fucking _noises_ ,” he sounded almost as though he were scolding me.

“But you _do_ keep making them,” he accused, hands trailing back down my thighs and spreading me open again. 

“So I have to keep _making_ you make them,” he explained, pressing a kiss to my inner thigh, and I bit my lip to keep from moaning again in the hopes that he’d get on with the fucking. 

“To see how _long_ I can keep you making them,” he went on, kissing my other thigh, eyes turning to look at me as he did so and fuck, how could I not whimper at the desire I saw in his gaze right then.

“Tease,” he whispered, letting a small smile flicker across his face as his head dipped lower again and it dawned on me that I’d never actually seen Malfoy smile before and that it was nice and then his mouth was back slurping at my hole again and all coherent thought flew from my mind and those moans he’d been complaining about returned at full volume.

“Mmm,” he hummed, pulling off of me briefly.

“You do make the most delicious moans when I do that,” he mused, tongue lapping at me greedily. “Why is that?”

“I….how…nnnggg!” I propped myself up on my elbows to stare at him incredulously. How the fuck was I supposed to answer a ridiculous question like that?

Malfoy chuckled and returned to his ministrations for a bit and I settled back into a writhing, whimpering mess as his mouth devoured me.

“Is it,” he took up again right where he’d left off, breaking his questioning with the occasional lick or suck at my hole, my balls, or thigh, just to keep me this side of sane, “ _only_ because you like how it feels?”

He traced the rim daintily with just the tip of his tongue. 

“Or maybe there’s something sinfully hot about how dirty it is?”

He slurped a positively sinful kiss into my hole before continuing. 

“That someone has their mouth on you here,”

He pressed a gentle, close-mouthed kiss against me that could have almost passed for chaste save for the fact that he was, literally, kissing my arse. 

“That someone is opening you with their tongue? Fucking you with their tongue?”

He proceeded to do just that. 

“That they _like_ it?” he added, licking another stripe up my arse, allowing himself his own moan of pleasure. 

My hands had found my way down to his head, and I threaded my fingers through his hair, revelling in the feel of those silken strands and I briefly thought that I should invest in better hair products.

The things your brain throws at you in the bedroom sometimes.

“Maybe it’s because it’s me?” Malfoy asked finally, grey eyes staring up at me from between my thighs, mouth still working at me and I groaned and almost came on the spot.

“Tell me, Potter,” he murmured, eyes still on me.

“All the times you’ve told me to kiss your arse,” he snickered.

“Did you ever once imagine that it’d be like this?”

I snorted with laughter at that.

“No…. can’t say that I had,” I admitted. 

Malfoy rose finally and slid two fingers back inside me, loosening me up again. 

I shuddered again at the casual display of wandless magic when his hand shot out to catch a small phial of lube.

He noticed that and smirked.

“Like that?” 

I nodded.

I could do wandless magic, too, but it was pretty rare, at least in witches and wizards our age.

Needless to say, I understood, now, the reaction other witches and wizards had when I used it so casually.

“I did that once on accident with a muggle,” he informed me, pulling a comical “oops” face. “Poor bloke definitely did not have the same reaction.” 

Malfoy unscrewed the cap and coated himself with a generous amount of lube, slowly stroking it up and down his length.

“What did you do?” I asked, eyes glued to his dick, curious about the story but honestly more interested in getting that dick back inside of me where it belonged. 

Malfoy shrugged nonchalantly and wiped the remaining lube off on a bedsheet.

“Obliviated him of a few short seconds.” 

Malfoy could Obliviate wandlessly? Fuck. 

He lined himself up to my entrance, and stared up at me, eyes almost black with lust. 

“But enough chit-chat, Potter,” he scolded as if I’d been the one talking this whole time. “I’m going to fuck you now.”

“Finally,” I breathed, as he slowly pushed inside me again.

He pushed in steadily, breath catching, eyes flickering shut, biting his lip in pleasure and I decided I quite liked the way he looked right then.

I squeezed around him and his eyes shot open as he made a small moan.

“Tease,” he gasped out again, sliding out then pressing back in slowly a few times before picking up the pace and setting a steady rhythm, grabbing my left leg and hoisting it over his shoulder, experimenting with the angle until he found it.

“Fuck,” I yelled out, eyes squeezing shut, stars exploding behind them.

“Oh, fuck, yes, please…” and the mindless babble continued as Malfoy adjusted himself so that his cock hit that spot every single time and Holy Hecate I didn’t care if I did die of pleasure right here because I’d never felt so full, so open, had something in so deep, and Merlin if I wasn’t about to come, untouched.

“Fuck yeah, Potter,” he gasped out. “That’s it, you filthy slut, take my cock. You fucking love it, don’t you?”

“I do. I fucking _love_ it. Your cock is _perfect._ Fuck me harder, _please,”_ I babbled, gripping at Malfoy as his mouth latched on to my neck, licking and sucking and surely leaving marks that I’d have to explain tomorrow.

“Is this what you were looking for, you utter cock-loving whore?” 

I’d definitely never been with anyone quite as talkative as Malfoy before, not that I was complaining.

My cock responded to the filthy talk quite nicely. 

“Is this what you wanted when you messaged me? Is my cock opening you up enough, you fucking slut? When you’re on your broomstick tomorrow at practice will you even be able to sit on it properly?”

“Yes, no, oh, _fuck_. Yes, Malfoy, _please_!” I gasped, feeling my orgasm rising. 

Because that was the best part of being proper fucked, wasn’t it? Feeling the slight pain next few days and remembering how you’d been fucked and how fucking brilliant it was?

Malfoy grabbed my ankles, spreading my legs wide as he began to pound into me so viciously I was sure my hips were going to shatter. He was hitting my prostate straight on now and I snapped my eyes shut so he couldn’t see my eyes rolling back into my head like a fucking idiot.

“Malfoy, I’m… close, so fucking close, _please_ ,” I gasped. 

Malfoy responded by fucking me even harder, watching me climb further towards the edge before he released my legs allowing me to wrap them around him, drawing him closer as he leant down to bite and latch on to my neck, right at that sensitive hollow, just above the collarbone, and I came undone. 

My orgasm crashed through me like a fucking explosion and I positively screamed a string of utter nonsense as cum shot out of me, leaving long ropes splattered between us, one shot landing spectacularly on the underside of my chin. 

My arse clenched relentlessly around Malfoy, still driving into me with that fucking perfect cock and then I felt him shudder. Felt the hot surges of cum shooting out of him and coating my arse. 

We both took a few moments to catch our breath and enjoy that post-orgasmic bliss, then Malfoy grinned down at me lazily and swiped the spot of cum off of my chin before pushing his tongue into my mouth and swirling his tongue and my cum around my own.

I responded eagerly, leaning into the kiss, but Malfoy just pulled away and flopped over onto his back.

“Fuck, I’m knackered,” he sighed.

“Mmm,” I agreed, silently flicking my wrist in a lazy “shooing” motion to evaporate the mess we’d made. Malfoy’s eyes widened at that and I smirked over at him.

“I’ve never really seen another person do it,” he said quietly. “I mean, you know, our age. Not old.”

“Me neither,” I responded, stretching my arms above me and arching slightly off the bed.

Malfoy’s eyes, I noted, followed my every movement, and even though he’d just cum beautifully mere seconds before, his magnificent dick gave an interested twitch which I took as a massive compliment.

“Where’d you learn to eat arse like that?” I asked, flipping onto my left side to look at him. He laughed so hard that his eyes shut and he arched off the bed himself.

He took a few moments to compose himself then rolled his head over to look at me, still sniggering.

“Of all the fucking questions you could have asked me about this _entire_ encounter, _that’s_ what you lead with?”

I shrugged and lowered my eyes shyly. 

“Where’d I learn to eat arse,” Malfoy was muttering, still laughing, and I felt my cheeks grow warm.

Apparently we could fuck spectacularly but ordinary conversation without resorting to teasing and taunting wasn’t an option.

My chin was suddenly cradled by Malfoy’s hand, gently urging me to look up. He’d flipped over on his side to face me as well, and his grey eyes were studying me. He grinned.

“I don’t know Harry, I suppose I learnt it the way you’d learn anything else,” he drawled.

“Desire to succeed and lots of practice,” he waggled his brows suggestively, and I snorted in laughter at the ridiculous face he was making.

It took me a minute to realise that he’d called me Harry.

“You called me Harry,” I blurted.

He frowned slightly, as though he hadn’t realised it either, then shrugged.

“I suppose once you’ve had your face buried up a man’s arse you’re allowed to use his given name,” he reasoned, “Although Potter does have a certain ring to it. I suppose I’ll use both.” 

I couldn’t really disagree. Truth be told, I’d rather liked the way my name sounded with his accent.

“You never did answer my question,” he accused, suddenly. 

What question? I stared at him, puzzled, trying to remember what he’d asked.

“When did you figure out that you’re an absolute cock-slut?”

“When did you?” I countered, and Malfoy rolled his eyes.

“Let’s be serious, Harry, like there was ever any doubt which way I pulled.” His grin turned predatory, and he propped himself up on one elbow to leer at me comically. 

“Spill it, Potter. What little trysts did you get yourself into back at the castle?” I rolled my eyes and hit him with a pillow.

“I was a little busy trying to take down a " _megalomaniac_ " back then if you’ll remember," borrowing Malfoy's perfect word for Voldemort from earlier. "

I didn’t get up to much, and certainly not with any blokes.” I pulled a face remembering my early, awkward attempts at playing het.

Malfoy looked disappointed.

“And here I thought I was going to be regaled with any number of torrid tales of The-Boy-Who-Lived-to-Suck-Cock,” he sighed, flopping onto his back and throwing his arm over his face in mock disappointment.

“Shut up,” I snapped. “Don’t call me that.”

“Why not?” he countered cheekily. “It’s true.”

I humphed and didn’t answer.

“Don’t even try to deny it,” he added, bringing his face to hover right above mine, eyes sparkling with mischief, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. 

“I’ve got proof,” he continued, eyes dropping down momentarily to gaze at my mouth and he shut his eyes briefly and gave a little shake of his head. 

“I’m definitely putting that one in the Pensieve,” he stated, winking at me and hopping off of the bed to retrieve his slacks from the floor.

“Your Pensieve?” I echoed, horrified. “You stash your Grindr pulls in a _Pensieve_?!”

What if someone else got their hands on that? Merlin, I’d be fucked.

“Only the really good ones,” he clarified.

“Or for when I might need evidence. For example, when a certain someone tries to make ungodly claims that he doesn’t live to suck cock,” Malfoy teased, pulling his trousers back on. 

He accio’d a couple of bottles of water to him and spun around, shocked, as one of them zoomed past him into my waiting palm. 

I quirked a brow and shrugged and he grinned and next thing I knew, I found myself with a lap full of Malfoy. 

He took a quick gulp of his own water before setting it down on the bedside table then grabbed my hands, eyes shining with excitement.

“I bet we could accio a couple bottles of wine up from the kitchens,” he said excitedly.

I rolled my eyes and shook my hands free to open my water and take a much-needed drink.

“C’mon, Potter,” he begged, looking every bit the eager child asking to open a Christmas present early. “Do you prefer white or red? _Please?_ ”

“We should probably accio a spare and leave it as a sorry gift for the neighbours,” I replied, not quite saying yes or no. 

Malfoy looked confused. 

“You know, for all the noise,” I clarified, blushing a bit as I remembered how very loud we’d been.

“I put up a Silencing charm before you got here,” he laughed, throwing his head back. “Don’t you before you hook up? Merlin, Harry, are you _sure_ you’re a wizard?” 

I shook my head, wondering why I’d never thought to do that before. 

“So... red or white?” I rolled my eyes. I guess we were doing this. Malfoy was relentless.

“Red.”

“Cab? Merlot? Zin?” those blue-grey eyes were positively sparkling. “Malbec? A blend?”

“Erm. Red?” He rolled his eyes and hit me over the head with a pillow.

“Good thing you’ve such a sweet arse, Potter, or else I’d have to toss you and your frighteningly boorish knowledge of drink out of here.” 

And with that, Malfoy gracefully twisted up out of my lap and stood again, in one smooth motion that I was sure I could never replicate, and stared down at me, lips pursed in thought.

Then he smiled, another one of his pleased, genuine smiles that softened his face and all I could do was stare at how gorgeous he was when he wasn’t scowling or throwing insults at me. 

Malfoy turned on his heel and ambled off towards the door, opening it and holding out his hand with a triumphant smile. 

A second later a bottle zoomed into it. 

He caught it and immediately tossed it inside the room, flicking his wand at it so that it danced across the room towards the coffee table, just as a second bottle shot into his newly outstretched hand. 

Without skipping a beat he turned and added two wine glasses and the second bottle to the odd parade dancing towards the table. 

The door clicked shut behind him and he settled himself on the couch, aiming his wand at the bottles to pop the corks out, twisting around to look at me expectantly.

“They need 30 minutes to breathe,” he said, eyes raking over my still-naked form and my cock that had definitely given a twitch of interest. 

Malfoy stood and dropped his trousers again as he strode towards the bathroom. 

“Care to join me for a shower? I know at least one of us is absolutely filthy.” 

I didn’t need any more encouragement to spring myself up from the bed and follow him into the tiled bathroom with a giant claw-foot tub against one wall. 

I turned to see Malfoy under the spray of a massive rainfall shower and he smiled at me as he turned his face up to the spray. 

I wasted no further time stepping into the steaming spray myself, reaching for him, running my hands down over his pecs and around to caress his back and squeeze at his arse, his skin slippery from the water. 

He “hmmed” his approval of my roving hands and opened grey eyes already darkening with arousal to look down at me. 

My hands paused at the scar scoring his chest, tracing the rigid bumps with my fingers.

“‘m sorry,” I began, but he pressed a finger against my lips and shook his head.

“I know,” he said, quietly, and I leaned in to capture his bottom lip but he pulled away, his hands coming up to begin their own exploration of my front, finally settling on my hips.

“Oh, are you one of those blokes who don’t kiss because it’s too intimate or whatever?” I asked, realisation dawning on me.

I’d been stunned a few years ago when a bloke had insisted on not kissing because it was “too intimate” for a one-night thing. 

Malfoy smirked down at me, hands still stroking around my hips and around to lightly fondle my cheeks.

“No, I quite like kissing,” he admitted. “But you seem the type to _get_ confused, so...”

“Malfoy,” I protested, chuckling, “You’ve had your face shoved between my arse for the better part of the past hour. How the hell would I get confused?” 

Malfoy again lifted a finger to my lips in a shushing motion.

“Shh, Potter,” he whispered, dropping his finger and leaning in so that his lips brushed maddeningly against mine with each word. “Now turn around, like a good boy. I want to see if I can make you cum from just my mouth.”

***  
  


It was more than 30 minutes later when we found ourselves finally nestled on the couch, wrapped in the fluffy bathrobes the hotel provided, Malfoy pouring the wine ceremoniously and handing me a glass.

“So,” he began, swirling the wine in his own glass and watching the wine drape down the sides of it. “I’m rather surprised you chose a career in Quidditch. Thought you’d want to hunker down out of the limelight.”

“I’d love to,” I admitted, shrugging. “But that’s never going to happen and Quidditch is the thing I love doing more than anything, so, if they’re going to keep making a celebrity of me, I might as well do something that makes me happy.” 

I took a sip of the wine and glanced at Malfoy. 

The last time I’d really seen him was at his trial before the Wizengamot following the war. I’d testified to help clear both his and his mother’s name. 

Lucius, however, had been sent to Azkaban. Malfoy, as the only heir, had inherited all of his father’s titles and wealth, although Ron and Hermione both said they saw him at the Ministry, meaning that Malfoy worked, even though he had no reason to, from what I’d heard about the size of the Malfoy vaults. 

I was curious as to what Malfoy did, but didn’t want to dreg up old memories or make things uncomfortable.

“Spit it out, Potter,” he said suddenly, refilling his glass and holding up the bottle in my direction, a questioning look on his face. I nodded, and he refilled my own glass.

“Spit what out?” Was I not supposed to be drinking the wine?

“You’re sitting there, mauling your lip and wrinkling your brow like thinking hurts,” Malfoy informed me. “Whatever it is, spit it out. I’m not going to break.”

“What have you been up to, you know, since the... erm... you know, since...” I stammered

“The trial?” he asked, raising his brows, and I nodded quickly. 

“Thanks for that, by the way,” he said, looking me straight in the eye as though making sure I knew he was being completely genuine.

“Of course,” I responded.

“Since then, I’ve just been working,” he continued, swirling his wine again.

“Why?” 

He glanced at me again, startled, then relaxed into a grin.

“What do you mean, why?”

“I mean,” Shit... was this rude? “Just, from what I’d heard, erm, sorry, I don’t mean to be rude, but...”

“Spit it out, Harry,” Malfoy instructed, still smiling and swirling his wine.

“I mean, you don’t _need_ to work, do you?” 

He stared at me for a moment and took a sip from his glass.

“From what I understand, Harry, your vault is nearly as full as mine,” he said. “Well, at least, as full as _one_ of them,” he grinned again. “I inherited a full seven from dear old daddy,” he spat out the last few words, scowling in distaste. 

“Why do _you_ work?” he asked.

“I already told you,” I answered. “I love playing Quidditch.” 

He raised an eyebrow and I understood.

“You just like doing it,” I stated, and he nodded, taking a sip from his glass. “Well, what is it that you do?”

He took another sip of wine and looked up at me from beneath his lashes.

“Afraid I can’t say, Potter,” he answered, signature Malfoy smirk in place.

“You’re an Unspeakable?” I gasped. “Hermione’s an Unspeakable, too!” 

His smirk deepened.

“Well aware,” he assured me.

“... do you two work together?” 

He paused and tilted his head to one side.

“Yes.” 

He quirked his head to the other side and looked at me, grinning. 

“I’m surprised I was allowed to tell you that!” 

I smiled happily into my glass of wine, then glanced shyly back up at Malfoy.

“So... erm...” I began and Malfoy’s face dropped.

“Potter, don’t,” he said, softly.

“What?”

“Don’t... be a sodding Gryffindor,” he said, draining the last of his glass.

“I still have no idea what you mean when you keep saying that,” I informed him, draining my glass as well.

“This isn’t happening again,” he stated, grey eyes looking at me intently. 

It wasn’t?

“Why not?” I asked.

“Because,” Malfoy said, filling his glass once more. “That’s what Grindr’s all about. It’s finding a hook-up, for just the night.”

“Well, yeah, but, I mean... we had a good time. Don’t get me wrong, Malfoy, I don’t want anything more from you, but in a few months when I’m horny and looking for a good lay, I don’t see anything wrong with looking you up and seeing if you’re available for another go,” I said honestly.

Malfoy frowned and took another sip of his drink, obviously thinking.

“You promise not to go all Gryffindor on me?” he asked. 

I rolled my eyes, exasperated.

“For fuck’s sake, Malfoy, I still don’t know what you even mean by that,” I exploded. “But if it helps, I promise to only bring the Slytherin bits of me for all future interactions, ‘s that good?” Malfoy’s eyes raked over my body, a small smile curving at his lips.

“I suppose that could work, Potter,” he said finally, lifting his glass to mine in a toast.


	4. Fuck You, Grindr

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The previous chapter, but from Draco's POV. I've no intention of writing every scene from both boys' POV but thought it'd be interesting to know Draco's take on this whole first meeting.

_Monday Afternoon & Evening_

_18 May 2009_

_Draco's POV_

My phone pinged, and I glanced down to see a notice from Grindr. 

Fantastic. 

I was having a shit day and finding someone with whom to take the stress out with would be a much-needed relief.

Sweet Merlin, I gasped to myself. These photos were _incredible_ , and I thanked the gods that the message had come through when I was alone in my office just before lunch hour. 

This bloke had a fucking unbelievable body, the pictures showing glimpses of what was clearly fit individual. Just enough to pique my interest. 

A close-up of a well-defined hip bone, practically begging for me to lick it, hold it, bruise it as I gripped it while ploughing into his decidedly gorgeous arse. 

Because he’d sent pictures of that, as well. 

Of its perfect shape, the two luscious globes curving down and I was already desperate to separate them to see what lay between. 

I was hardening already, and that wouldn’t do at work.

However... I paused and glanced around me, as though there could’ve been someone else in my office without me knowing it. 

I was probably the only one here. The man had clearly stated that “size fucking mattered.” Could he handle me? I cast a quick locking and silencing spell at my door and lowered my trousers and pants.

I closed my eyes and began stroking my cock, already at half-mast, glancing at the photos on my phone and nearly groaning at the arse on display. This had better be his goddam arse, else I would hex him into the next decade, the fucking bastard.

My cock was already filling out nicely, and I lazily flicked my wand to have my mobile snap some shots while I was stroking my cock as it continued to grow.

This bloke was a size queen, was he? I’d give him something to salivate over.

I soon lost myself to the thought of this stranger and his incredible arse, stroking myself to a point where I would definitely have to take care of business at work.

I lost myself in the fantasy of burying myself in someone who _wanted_ a cock of my size. My sex life had been awful the past few years, with blokes either claiming to be size queens then quickly changing their mind once they saw me or turning into simpering idiots who mistook my ministrations to get them fully prepared so they could actually enjoy my dick for something more romantically inclined. 

I considered myself to be a thoughtful lover and enjoyed taking the time to prep a bloke properly, but was, frankly, annoyed at how many of them equated an enthusiastic and thorough prepping with “I want to be your boyfriend.”

I’d downloaded Grindr a few weeks ago and that was changing considerably, now that I could advertise, so to speak, to the right sort of bloke.

I closed my eyes and imagined this bloke laying on his stomach; me straddling him as I ran my hands down his sides and parting those tempting cheeks to reveal that sweet pucker. 

I actually groaned as I imagined leaning in to lap at that swirl, teasing and licking at it until it opened enough for me to slide my tongue inside.

I’d always had a thing for rimming, to the point where, honestly, I shouldn’t blame those poor blokes for reading something into it, I did it so often, but fuck. There was something about it. About how it turned a bloke into a writhing mess, all cares flung out the window. The fact that it was so dirty and so wrong only made it even better, somehow, and I groaned again as I imagined this stranger pushing back onto my tongue, begging shamelessly. I sped my hand up a little now, twisting at the top now and then as my mind sped up to where he’d be loosened up and I could slide my cock in. 

That first squeeze into a tight arse was always incredible. No matter how much I thought I remembered, it was always tighter, slicker, more mind-blowing than my imagination could provide. I imagined sliding in, just partway, and my partner gasping and begging for more, and me just teasing him, fucking him with just half my cock.

I liked to tease, both myself and my partner. I liked to build that tension to an almost unbearable height, to see how far I could push myself, push us both, before finally giving in and letting the sheer bliss of a well-earned orgasm take over, leaving me, and hopefully, him, half-numb and tingling from the ecstasy. 

My hand mimicked my imagination, only sliding halfway down my shaft, imagining the tight squeeze of his arse gripping me, asking for more. 

I exhaled and imagined sliding in, slowly, allowing him to accommodate me until I was fully inside. I picked up the speed here as my mind kept up the scene. Of this stranger spread out before me, hips rising to meet my own, moaning and begging for more. Harder. Faster. Imaginary me did not disappoint and all too soon, I felt the familiar tug behind my navel and seconds later my orgasm exploded, literally, over me and I panted heavily for a few seconds before I waved my hand and wordlessly evaporated the mess I’d made all over my trousers.

I’d learned I could do wandless magic during my training as an Unspeakable and while it certainly came in handy for my job, especially when I needed to Obliviate someone, it came in handy for much more mundane tasks as well. 

I still used my wand when I needed to do more powerful or precise magic, and sometimes just out of habit, like now, when I flicked it lazily towards the door to undo the locking and silencing charms.

Sighing, I picked up my mobile and thought of the response I’d send along with the dick pics it had snapped. 

They were good, I supposed, I mean, if I was trying to show this bloke that I had a cock that could please even the pickiest size queen. I didn’t get it, personally, but was glad there seemed to be a host of blokes out there looking to split themselves open on my cock.

On a whim, I changed the settings on the photos to black and white. There was something so crude about a dick pic. Black and white somehow made it seem less crass. I smirked and briefly wished my father were still around so I could see the look on his face when I joked that at least some of the years of Malfoy breeding and finishing school had paid off and I knew how to send a classy dick pic. 

I typed some nonsense about being highly proficient in dirty talk and how my cock would definitely be worth his effort and waited.

***

Thirty minutes later, Hermione Granger and I were in a deep discussion about the latest case we were working on. 

We both worked in the Department of Mysteries, in the Thought Room. Hermione had transferred from the Time Room a few months earlier, and, after a few weeks of professional awkwardness, had developed a genuine relationship. 

Turns out we were both ridiculous bookworms and both truly enjoyed our research in Thought and genuinely enjoyed each other’s company, though we hadn’t quite worked up the courage to hang out outside of work. 

Could you imagine Granger and I, heading out for a pint? She, with her permanent sidekicks, The-Boy-Who-Lived and, now, husband Ron. 

And me, with Pansy and Blaise, my sidekick equivalents. Hell would ice over for a few days, certainly. 

We both worked in conjunction with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Hermione assisting the Council of Magical Law and the Wizengamot with the findings of our latest research into the intricacies of thought and understanding how it could explain motives, excuses, and arguments of some of the most difficult cases brought before them.

I worked with the Auror department as a highly-skilled secret agent. Kind of like the Secret Intelligence Service in Muggle Britain. I’d always been extremely skilled in duelling under pressure and charms work, and this, coupled with my skills as both an Occlumens and Legilimens had made me a shoo-in for the position. Not to mention my knowledge of the Dark Arts, having grown up a Malfoy, made for some wicked insights into how the criminal mind worked.

Hermione was always joking about me being a Wizard version of some fictional bloke called Bond. Whatever.

My mobile pinged, and I recognised it instantly as my Grindr app, so, naturally, I pulled it out to see what my mysterious little size queen had thought of my pictures. 

Fuck me. 

He’d sent another photo of his arse. 

Of himself, laying on a bed, face-down, hips propped up on a pillow, that delicious-looking arse offered up to me, with the cheeky caption: “Fuck me into this later tonight?” 

Yes, sir. Your wish is my command.

“Draco?” Hermione was looking at me expectantly.

I had no idea what she’d asked.

“Erm....”

She rolled her eyes.

“Do you have any idea what the underlying motive could be?”

“No, Mione, really, I mean, aside from the obvious want for wealth and power, it could be any number of things.”

I sighed. 

Mr Perfect-Arse was going to have to wait.

Someone, or some organisation, rather, had created a wizard app that was, basically, a pocket-sized Mirror of Erised. 

However, instead of someone downloading it expressly, it would just pop up on a wizard’s phone and said wizard would slowly lose themselves in the mirror, gazing at their heart’s desire, gradually losing all interest in anything else.

A few had gone mad and were being treated at St. Mungos.

What had really got the Ministry’s attention, though, was a few weeks ago, when a few wizards had attempted to rob Gringotts and yet another band had infiltrated the actual Ministry itself, and had attempted an attack on Minister Shacklebot.

So far, there was no obvious connection between the witches and wizards who had been beleaguered by the app, and the Auror department had apprehended the creator, who had clearly been placed under Imperius and had no idea how or why he’d created it.

We spent the remainder of the afternoon researching the original Mirror of Erised, dreams, desire, and ambition in hopes to find clues to connect the affected wizards and witches as well as move closer to determining a motive and, hopefully, a suspect to go after and by the time 5pm rolled around, I was exhausted.

I pulled out my mobile and reserved the Grand Henrietta room at the Henrietta Hotel in Muggle London.

I liked its atmosphere. It was a trendy, little boutique hotel in Covent Garden, with smartly decorated rooms that were inviting and cosy. I also loved the claw-foot tubs and rain showers in the bathrooms, as well as their mini-bars, stocked with _good_ alcohol and speciality cocktails.

In short, it was posh enough for me without being too much. 

I was a Malfoy, after all, and I was not spending another evening in an Ibis or Travelodge. I shuddered. 

Nevermind that it was only for sex. I was never subjecting myself to scratchy sheets and uncomfortable mattresses ever again and now made sure that I provided the location for all hook-ups, Grindr or not.

I’m not sure what the owners or managers of the Henrietta would think about the fact that I was making their beloved home my go-to for Grindr meet-ups, but hey, business was business.

Next, I messaged Mr Perfect-Arse to meet me there at 20h, sharp. That would give me enough time to grab a quick bite, take a shower, and relax a bit in the room before he arrived.

***

There was a knock at the door just before eight and I tossed my mobile onto the table, casting a quick silencing charm around the room and making sure my wand was tucked away inside the special holster in my pocket so that it was available but invisible to the human eye. 

You could never be too careful when meeting a Grindr date. Anonymity was great, but also dangerous.

I opened the door, eager to get my hands on the arse that had been tempting me all day, and immediately wished I hadn’t.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I sneered. 

This couldn’t be happening. I so did not need this right now. Fuck.

But this was real. 

Harry Fucking Potter was standing, open-mouthed, hand still raised from knocking, on _my_ door, looking to be properly shagged.

He was fit, gorgeous as ever, not that this was any surprise to me, as I’d seen his stupid face and stupid body plastered all over Wizard television and on numerous souvenirs for the Montrose Magpies, where he’d been playing as Seeker for the past seven years.

“Malfoy?” He sounded just as angry and confused as I did. 

“The fuck,” he spat out, shouldering his way around me and storming into the room. 

No. He wasn’t allowed in here, I thought, panicking.

“What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?”

“I need a fucking drink,” he ground out. 

I could actually feel the anger vibrating out of him, and a part of me was more-than-a-little turned on at that display of power. 

I was a powerful wizard, sure, but really, we all knew there was no one more powerful than Potter out there.

He unscrewed the cap from a bottle of whiskey and began to take a swig, straight from the bottle, because of course, he would.

“Really, Potter,” I scolded gently, “You can’t drink that from the bottle, you uncouth brute.”

I took the bottle from him even as his throat swallowed some amber liquid down and I involuntarily thought of that throat working to swallow something else. 

Perfect BJ mouth, his profile had said, and I’d be lying if I said I’d never imagined that perfect, red pout of his wrapped around my dick. 

Truth be told, Potter had featured in most of my Hogwarts-era wanks. 

My first crush, if you will. 

I’d retaliated against it by being as awful and snotty towards him as I could. 

Which was why I needed to get him the fuck out of this room.

Help him have his drink and send him on his merry way so that we could both find another Grindr partner to fuck. 

I briefly thanked my dickwad father for having trained me to behave the gracious host in the most difficult of situations so that I could manage to ask:

“Would you prefer it neat or on ice?” in the most disaffected tone possible.

Potter just blinked back at me with those impossibly green eyes, no longer hidden behind those stupid glasses and I felt my dick give an interested twitch in my trousers.

“What?”

“Neat, or on ice?” I repeated, willing myself not to get lost staring back into those eyes.

Fuck. This wasn’t going well.

“... just give me some whiskey,” he mumbled, and I realised he had no idea what I’d been asking.

“Do you want your whiskey at room temperature or with some ice, you sodding idiot?” 

It’d been a while since I’d been so petty and rude on purpose, but I just needed Potter out of there and I resorted to what was familiar where he was concerned.

“Oh. Erm. I suppose some ice would be nice,” he said, blinking up at me again. 

I tore my gaze away from those damned eyes of his and grabbed two rocks glasses. 

I then carefully placed a large ice cube (Merlin, I loved the bar set up at this place, I thought to myself again), then, on a whim, smirked over in Potter’s direction.

“Shall I make it two fingers or three?” 

Potter. A fucking size queen. Potter. Gay. Merlin, have mercy.

“Funny,” he shot back, but he was smirking back and looked amused. “I’ll let you guess.”

Three it was, then, I thought to myself, measuring the whiskey into each glass, handing one to Potter.

“So...” I leant against the bar, swirling my glass so that the whiskey cascaded up and around the ice, cooling it. 

“Harry Potter is gagging for cock.” 

I raised my glass to take a sip as I made my way over to the couch and sat down, waving my hand to signal to Potter that he should do the same. 

Stubborn git refused, of course, and continued to lean against the bar.

“I assure you, Malfoy, I most certainly do not gag.” 

Merlin. That wasn’t something I needed to picture right now.

“Are you sure? I’d love to try and make you,” I responded, crossing my legs. 

Beloved Hecate, would I ever.

There was a pause. Then.

“Was that picture really you?” 

He was trying to sound casual, but I caught the hope in his voice. 

Someone help me please, The-Boy-Who-Lived was a _shameless_ size queen.

“Why, saw something you liked?” I smirked as I took another sip.

“Just curious,” he mumbled, sipping his own glass of liquid courage. Gryffindor, indeed.

“What is it with you size queens?” I asked, setting my glass on the coffee table and looking at Potter. 

For some reason, I felt comfortable asking him the question I’d been wondering the past few weeks. 

“I mean, is it more a mental thing just to say you did it, or do you actually enjoy the feeling of a cock practically splitting you in two?” 

Potter’s eyes slid closed, and he practically moaned, teeth pulling part of that delicious-looking, plump bottom lip of his into his mouth. 

Fuck.

“Well, that answered that...” I murmured, willing my cock to disregard the wanton look Potter had just had on his face.

I pulled out my phone and flicked open the Grindr app, hoping that Potter would finish his drink and leave soon. 

I was in nowhere near the right state of mind to tackle the emotional baggage Potter was unpacking just by standing there.

You’ve got to understand. 

I’d spent nearly all of my adolescence obsessed with the man. 

Countless wanks to those emerald eyes staring at me in a lust-blown haze. 

To the thought of that ridiculous mouth wrapped around my cock, sucking like it was what he was put here on this earth to do. 

To the thought of Harry writhing beneath me, begging for more. 

And to think it, apparently, could have actually happened? 

No fucking way. I wasn’t ready to go there.

“What are you doing?” he asked, suddenly.

“Looking for another hookup,” I responded, casually flicking through the bottoms presenting in the vicinity. 

Of course, none of them came even remotely close to appealing as much as Harry did.

“Why?” he sounded confused. Bless him.

“Potter, do I really need to explain to you why this would be a horrible idea?” I turned my head to look at him, hoping he’d get the idea.

“Perhaps,” he answered, shrugging.

“We hate each other,” I reminded him, panic rising. I wasn’t ready for this. Fuck.

“So?” 

So. Well, obviously I didn’t really hate him, no. But this couldn’t happen.

“You’re a Gryffindor,” I tried again, hoping to reinstate our ancient house rivalry.

“I’ve no idea what that has to do with anything.” 

I frowned and swirled my glass in irritation. This wasn’t going as I’d intended.

“The Sorting Hat wanted to put me in Slytherin,” Potter informed me, grinning smugly.

“Twice,” he added, giving me a positively Slytherin-worthy smirk.

“How’d you convince it otherwise?” I asked, interested, my work-brain taking over momentarily. 

The Sorting Hat had been imbued with some of the strongest Legilimency skills known to wizard-kind by Salazar Slytherin himself at the founding of the school. 

To convince that hat to put him elsewhere laid to rest any debate that the most powerful wizard to have ever existed was standing before me.

“I suppose I used my _cunning_ to convince it to put me elsewhere,” he replied. 

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” he continued.

No kidding. 

Potter, almost sorted into Slytherin, and, apparently, a cock-thirsty bottom. Merlin, why was life so unfair?

I was jerked out of my musings by a half-naked Potter straddling my lap, taking my whiskey from my grasp and setting it gently on the table behind him.

“The fuck are you doing, Potter?” I had to stop this now.

“Getting comfortable,” he replied, kneeling up so that those lick-able hip bones were at eye level. 

The fucking bastard. He knew exactly what he was doing.

“Potter,” I tried again. 

“Again, do I need to explain to you why this is an awful idea?” 

I couldn’t even try not to look at the twin indentations at his hips, his little pleasure trail, and how all three led to an obviously filling cock, not nearly the size of mine, but perfectly respectable in its own right.

“No,” he agreed, bending down and nipping at my lips but pulling away before I could capture that perfect mouth with my own. 

Wanker.

“I’m fully aware,” he assured me. 

“But...” he leaned back in to nibble at my mouth again, and I managed to swipe my tongue along that plump bottom lip before he pulled away again. 

“I’m horny as fuck and if that cock’s really yours, I can’t care less.”

Well, call me fucked. I knew I wasn’t going to be able to turn this opportunity away.

Potter then settled himself in my lap and let out the most wanton, unholy moan as he settled his arse against my half-hard cock. 

I was done for, clearly.

“Potter,” I practically purred, “I had no _idea_ it’d be this easy to make you moan like a wanton, cock-hungry slut.” 

I didn’t know if I wanted him to get so angry at my words and leave, or gift my ears with another shameless moan and grind that pert arse of his back onto me again.

Potter clearly favoured the latter and rewarded my filthy talk with another grind and moan.

“Look at you,” I continued, “still grinding yourself on me and moaning like it’s the most amazing thing you’ve ever felt.” 

Potter responded by continuing to grind and moan like his body and voice were made for driving me absolutely insane. 

“Like you’re not grinding your arse on ex-Death-eater-cock,” I added, raising my hips to meet his downward thrusts. 

I gazed up at him, his eyes squeezed shut, those goddamn moans slipping out of his mouth almost involuntarily as he rolled and slid that delicious arse along my hardening length. 

Fuck, he was beautiful.

“Get on your knees,” I instructed.

Hell, if I was going to be forced to face my teenage wank-bank, I was going to indulge in all of my most intimate fantasies. 

And I’d be lying if I said Potter, on his knees, mouth stretched wide around my cock, wasn’t one of the top ones. 

If the poor sheets on my Hogwarts four-poster could talk.

I clamped my hands down, thumbs digging into those goddamned hip indentations, stilling him from grinding back down on me so I could try to think clearly for one goddamned second.

“Wha?” Merlin, he could hardly speak, he was already so far gone. 

I can’t even describe what that did to my cock.

“You heard me,” I said, happy that my voice belied what was going on inside my head.

Green eyes snapped open, his pupils wide and lust-blown and I faltered for a second. 

Fuck, those eyes were going to do me in.

“You’re going to strip naked.” 

Merlin, Draco, what the fuck are you doing, the last sane part of my mind tried to reason with me. 

“And you’ll kneel on the floor,” I continued, ignoring said part of mind. “And you’re going to suck my cock. ‘Cause I’m positive that pretty mouth of yours was made for it.”

I reached up to trace my index finger along that luscious, perfect pout, half-hoping he’d suck it in to give me a preview of what was to come.

Instead, he clambered eagerly off my lap, trousers and pants disappearing with an absolutely stunning display of wandless magic, then he was kneeling beside the couch, knees spread wide, head tilted back, tongue darting out to lick along his bottom lip in anticipation.

_Fuck._

_“_ Care to find out?” 

It was a dare.

Familiar territory between us. I couldn’t suppress the shudder of desire that coursed through me at the picture he was as he sent me another smirk that would have had Salazar himself cowering in a corner.

“Close your eyes,” I commanded. 

I couldn’t look at those eyes right now. I’d come undone. 

I stood while unbuttoning my shirt at record speed, tossing it somewhere to my right side, watching Harry as I moved my hands to undo my trousers, the little wanker clearly disobeying my request that he shut those goddamned eyes of his. 

He bit his lip again, eyes following my hands.

“Eager, are we?” I undid the button and fly of my trousers and let them drop, my cock filling out my pants. 

Spectacularly, I might add, if the needy whimper that escaped Potter’s mouth at that moment was any indication.

I took a few steps towards him, lightly caressing my dick through my pants and Potter whimpered again. 

Merlin, I would’ve never, in my wildest dreams, pegged him for such a cock-slut.

“Close. Your. Eyes.”

He blinked up at me, then quickly squeezed them shut and I took a deep breath and a moment to compose myself before I rid myself of my pants and closed the last few inches between us and reached out to gently thread my fingers through his unruly locks.

They were soft, like silk. An unruly tangle of silk that was just begging for me to run my hands through it. I restrained myself and said, instead:

“Just the tip.”

Potter had already shown himself to be a cock-slut, and I wanted to tease him a bit. 

I liked teasing, remember?

Potter leaned forward, lips parted, searching, and I guided the tip of my cock to slide along his bottom lip.

He moaned quietly as he sucked it gently into his mouth, tongue giving a wicked swirl to the tip, gathering up the pre-cum already there.

He moaned again, sucking at just the tip, as instructed, and I allowed my eyes to flutter closed.

Holy shit, he was good at this.

Potter’s hands reached out and began to trace aimless patterns up my thighs, around my waist, across my arse, all while sucking and lapping contentedly at just the tip of my cock.

Merlin, he was obeying me. 

I honestly could have cum right there.

Potter just continued, lapping and sucking, and then, suddenly, he began to slide that wicked mouth further down my shaft, not asking, but clearly wanting more.

“You utter slag,” I ground out, twisting one hand into those silken locks and holding him in place as I began to fuck his mouth, but not too much.

I wanted him as on edge as I was. 

I slowly eased about a third of my cock into his lovely mouth, then backed out, just as slowly, relishing in his moan as I continued to slowly fuck his face.

“You love having that pretty mouth of yours stuffed full of my cock, don’t you?” 

Potter merely groaned, and his eyes snapped open, staring at me with an almost frantic look. 

He shook his head as his mouth neared the end of my dick and I popped out, albeit reluctantly.

“I want more. All of it.” 

He sounded desperate and who was I not to cooperate a little? 

I began to thrust slowly, still not giving him all of my cock, but deep enough to graze the back of his throat, and I had to close my own eyes when I saw Potter lean forward, greedily, moaning as he tried to take even more.

Fine, he wanted it all? I’d give it to him. The ultimate test of any self-proclaimed size queen, in my book.

I slid back in, cock grazing the back of his throat, and continued, waiting for the telltale sputter when I’d hit too far and caught him off-guard.

It never came.

The fucking bastard swallowed easily, throat working around my cock like he’d never even _heard_ of a gag reflex and the sodding wanker had the nerve to _wink_ at me as he swallowed my cock like his throat was a fucking python.

I rested there for a moment, then slid back out, then back in again, slow as ever, enjoying his mouth sucking and gripping at each centimetre, that wicked tongue of his pressing into the vein running along the underside of my cock, swirling around the head.

Who’d have guessed the Boy Wonder was a cock-sucking champion?

“You fucking love this,” I told him, thankful my voice was still steady, belying my lust-blown brains. “You could suck my cock for hours, couldn’t you?”

As though I could last hours with that mouth working me, Merlin.

“You fucking love it. Sucking my cock.” 

I threaded my other hand into his hair and began fucking his face, still using slow, measured strokes, pushing all the way into his throat each time. 

Good luck explaining your raw voice tomorrow, Harry.

Harry just took it, still moaning, not so quietly anymore, the vibrations sending an additional shock of pleasure down my cock as he just knelt there and took it, looking, for all the world, like he was _enjoying_ it.

Can you even imagine the fucking thrill of having the most powerful wizard in existence, on his knees, willingly sucking your cock and all but begging for more? 

This was better than any fantasy my teenaged brain had ever been able to come up with.

“Fuck, Potter,” I groaned, unable to stop myself. “Fuck being the Boy-Who-Lived and fuck Voldemort. I’m pretty sure you were put on this earth to suck cock.” 

It was true. 

Potter glared up at me and managed to roll his eyes, all while still swallowing my cock like it was covered in treacle and he had to clean it of every last drop.

He pulled back, suddenly, and began lapping at the weeping head of my cock with long, wide strokes of his tongue, that evil mouth of his wrapping around to suck longingly at the head every few strokes. 

Arsehole. He definitely knew exactly what he was doing. 

I hadn’t realised that I’d loosened my grip in his hair until he reached back and tightened my grip.

Oh, I realised with a jolt.

Potter wanted me to _fuck_ his face.

I traced my left hand down, almost caressing the back of his head as my right hand tightened its grip in his hair and I gave Potter exactly what he’d asked for.

“Is this what you wanted, Potter?” I demanded, cock driving in and out of that gorgeous mouth.

Potter only groaned, taking it like he was a goddamned professional. 

He reached a hand down to wrap around his own cock, leaking pre-cum, and I swatted it away. 

Oh, hell no.

“Don’t you fucking dare, Potter,” I spat out, twisting my hand back into his hair. “That cock is _mine.”_

He obeyed, immediately, and I catalogued this away for future reference. 

Not that I’d need it, because this definitely couldn’t happen again.

I stopped suddenly, pulling myself from his mouth with an obscene pop and he whimpered at the loss. Cock-slut, indeed. 

I gave him what I hoped was an understanding glance as I yanked him up by the arm.

“Don’t worry, kitten,” I murmured, because Potter certainly reminded me of a kitten, fiercely savage or purring, depending on how you rubbed him, apparently. 

I nipped gently at the cord running up his neck and groaned in time with him as our cocks bumped together. 

“We’re just moving over to the bed.” 

I nipped again at a sensitive spot below his ear and allowed my hands to explore the rippling muscles down his back. 

“As wonderful as your mouth is, I’m quite interested in exploring this gorgeous arse of yours.” 

I accentuated this statement with a slow squeeze of said arse, allowing myself the gift of fondling this bit of heavenly perfection with my hands.

I gave a hard bite to that spot just below his ear again, following with a longing suck that I hoped would leave him with a telltale mark for days before shoving him hastily towards the bed.

He stumbled over and yanked the comforter off, clearly as eager as I was. 

I gently pressed him, face-down onto the bed, grabbing a pillow to shove under his hips, making the picture he’d sent me earlier a reality.

He ground shamelessly into it, and I lightly smacked his arse.

“Slut.” I couldn’t even sound upset. 

Harry responded by rolling his hips into the pillow and offering his arse up to me in a silent plea.

I needed no further encouragement, and all but leapt onto the mattress, straddling him, careful not to rest all of my weight on him, as I leaned forward to ghost a trail of kisses from the nape of his neck, down his spine, finally allowing myself a tentative lick once I’d reached his tailbone.

I took a deep breath as I slid further down his thighs, hands spreading him apart as I had in my fantasy earlier today, to reveal an absolutely luscious, pink pucker winking up at me.

“Merlin, you look incredible like this,” I breathed, and Harry all but purred and rolled his hips again, pressing against my hands to open himself wider. Kitten, indeed.

I cast a quick cleansing and a few perfunctory protection spells and watched him twitch slightly as the magic washed through him.

“Shame we can’t do that with a muggle pull, isn’t it?” I questioned, pulling a quick face at the inconvenience of condoms and such.

Finally, I allowed myself the treat I’d been anticipating all afternoon, even before I’d known it was Potter’s gorgeous arse I was ogling.

I licked a slow path from the base of his balls, up, pausing to savour the taste of him at that rosy furl, before continuing up, placing a brief kiss at his tailbone. 

Merlin, he was delicious. 

Musky. Sweet. His own, unique taste. 

Hecate, help me, I was already addicted. 

I gave another slow lick, tracing the same path. Then a third. 

Someone help me, this couldn’t be happening.

All the while, Potter was giving the most delicious moans, and I finally gave in and swirled my tongue around his sweet, little pucker.

I continued to lap and lick at him, savouring the taste of him on my tongue and the way he was positively writhing up into me.

“Fuck, Malfoy,” he groaned.

I ignored his plea and continued to lick around and over his sweet opening as though I had all the time in the world. 

Because truth be told, I did.

I could do this for hours.

“You’re pink,” I sighed, laving at that pretty, pink furl again.

“What?” he sounded embarrassed, for some reason, as though having such a pretty, pink arsehole were a bad thing.

“You’re pink,” I repeated, tracing down his crack with a finger, pressing gently into the pulsing furl in question, before spreading him wide again, this time attacking his sweet, little hole with fervour. 

I attached my mouth to it, licking and sucking until it opened and then I was kissing it, the dirtiest of kisses imaginable, tongue swirling into him, tasting him, teasing him, taunting him.

He responded by grinding his arse back up into me, forcing my tongue in deeper, as though I minded. I allowed myself the pleasure of losing myself in eating him for a few minutes before pulling back, spreading him wide.

“Merlin, you look good like this,” I told him, leaning in to lick at him again. 

“All spread open.” I gave him another leisurely lick. 

“Body begging like the greedy cock-slut you are.” Another lick. 

“You’re fucking _wrecked_ and I’ve only just started.” 

I gave him a particularly covetous lick, from his balls, swirling obscenely into his arsehole, barely withholding a groan of pleasure myself, and Potter let out a positively obscene whine.

I sharpened my tongue into a point and began jabbing at Potter’s loosening hole, wanting to be inside of him. 

It didn’t take long and Potter moaned above me as my tongue drove through that tight ring of muscle to lap at the slick inside of him. 

I began fucking him with my tongue, driving it in and out, relishing in the incomprehensible litany Harry was screaming out.

Pants of “ _more,”_ and “ _yes_ ,” and “ _fuck_ ,” and “ _gods_ ,” and, my personal favourite, “Malfoy, _please_.”

How could I not oblige and continue to fuck him silly with my mouth?

I reached up and shoved two of my fingers into his mouth, groaning at how eagerly he sucked them in and at how my brain instantly threw me a visual of Potter being fucked by a cock on one end and swallowing another greedily at the other. 

Merlin, have mercy.

I removed my hand, swiping my tongue up Potter’s crack one last time, sucking longingly at his hole, before pressing the tip of my finger against it.

He pressed back, instantly, and my finger slid easily inside. 

I withdrew it slowly, knowing already that a slow pace drove Harry absolutely mad.

“Gods, how the fuck are you so tight?” I whispered against the perfect swell of his arse, watching my finger slide slowly in and out.

He didn’t answer, just pushed back, moaning all the while like he needed a cock to fill him in order to make all right in the world.

“I know what sized things you like to fit into this hole, Potter,” I added, adding a second finger and groaning because, fuck, he was tight, but yielding and warm, and perfect, and just. _Fuck._

“Fuck,” I muttered aloud, twisting my fingers viciously inside of Potter and relishing the wall-shaking moan he let out at that.

“Your arse is incredible,” I added, continuing to fuck Potter on my fingers, being careful to let only half of them disappear into that delectable arse of his.

Harry was moaning uncontrollably, trying, without success, to impale himself further on my fingers.

“Please,” he begged, aiming his hips upwards, but I managed to withdraw my fingers so that Harry whimpered.

“What?” I asked, eyes riveted to the sight of Harry’s hole swallowing my fingers before me.

“What is it that you need, Potter?” 

I slid my fingers, slowly, all the way, into Harry’s arse, twisting as I entered, before withdrawing them completely.

“No!” he practically shouted, arse following my fingers desperately. 

“What?” he gasped. “Why? The _fuck,_ Malfoy...”

He groaned spectacularly when he felt my tongue licking impatiently at his hole again. 

I licked at him wildly, swirling and lapping at him until he opened up and then I began to tongue-fuck him like I’d been wanting to since, well, honestly, since fifth year, when I’d first learned what rimming was. 

I allowed myself to abandon all caution and fucked Harry with my mouth thoroughly, face thrusting in and out of his arse, tongue jabbing in and out of that delightful pucker of his, stopping finally to allow myself to swirl my tongue deep within him, groaning because, _fuck_ , Potter tasted amazing.

I continued to lap and swirl and dip my tongue into him, moaning all the while, because, fuck, how could I _not?_

Harry, meanwhile, was shoving his arse shamelessly back into my face and I decided my only purpose, for the rest of tonight, was to fuck Harry senseless.

I withdrew my mouth and shoved two fingers back into him, fucking him as my life depended on it. 

To be honest, it might’ve, and my brain allowed me a brief flicker to think that this might be an interesting topic to research. 

Lust and thought and obsession.

I shook my head clear and focused on twisting and scissoring my fingers into Harry’s arse instead, twisting downwards and finding that spot where Harry arched his back and positively screamed. 

I continued to finger him, seeking that spot with each stroke. He was whimpering and moaning in the most amazing way and I knew I was going to save the sight of him, writhing and moaning as I drove and twisted my fingers into him. 

My Pensieve was going to have a busy fucking morning.

“That good, Potter?” I asked, still finger-fucking him viciously, still aiming towards that spot. “You love that, don’t you?”

“Fuck, Malfoy,” he pleaded. “Please. Oh, fuck. Gods... _please!”_

As convincing as he was, I continued to twist and plunge my fingers deep into his arse, watching as Harry twitched and writhed beneath me. Could there _be_ a more beautiful sight? I didn’t think so.

I leant down, removing my fingers, digging both thumbs into his quivering hole and began fucking him with my tongue again, because, fuck, he was delightful, and we’ve already been over my obsession with eating arse, and the noises he was making as I darted my tongue in and out between my thumbs spreading him open were positively vulgar.

And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want him to continue.

Reluctantly, I removed my mouth from his arse and slid three fingers back in, noting that Potter’s eyes were practically rolling back up into his skull.

I slowed my pace, immediately, fucking Potter slowly, relishing in the way his arse was clenching deliciously around my fingers. Definitely not enjoying the way Scarhead’s eyes were rolling back into his head as I twisted my fingers to brush his prostate.

“Faster,” he practically growled. 

I chuckled.

“ _Fuck_ , Malfoy, I’m not kidding,” he spat out.

“I know you’re not,” I answered, still fingering him languidly, twisting my fingers down to brush against that bundle of nerves occasionally. 

Gods, he looked so perfect, writhing against my fingers, head thrown back, mouth open, moaning and those eyes. Those fucking eyes staring at me, _begging_ me to fuck him.

“Honestly, if you weren’t so fucking mind-blowingly hot when you’re desperate and wanton, I’d probably be fucking you already,” I told him, and I was being honest. Still finger-fucking him, slowly as I could.

“What?” He sounded angry, and he twisted around to stare at me, trying to look angry, I was sure, but he was already so lust-blown and wrecked, he just looked desperate and eager.

“I like playing with you, Potter,” I smiled and twisted my fingers into him, cruelly, I’ll admit. But Merlin, he gave the most exquisite moan, arching his back and pushing himself back onto my fingers.

“Merlin, you’re even better than I could have possibly imagined,” I murmured. 

And imagined, I had, Great Circe. 

“Look at you, fucking yourself on my fingers.”

Potter, the fucking bastard, moaned again, and pushed himself back onto my fingers, slowly, even slower than the pace I’d been teasing him with.

Then pulled himself off, just as slowly. 

Bastard. 

He was doing that on purpose. 

I let him continue, one, two, three, four times, before I snapped.

“Fuck, Potter,” I sighed, grabbing him by the hips and dragging him up onto all fours. 

“I can’t wait to feel that impossibly tight arse of yours opening around me.”

“ _Please,”_ he begged, and it dawned on me that he was even more far-gone than I was.

I bent forward to lick at his fluttering hole once more before lining the head of my cock with his opening. 

I pushed in gently, and he sighed, contentedly. 

I pushed forward, allowing my head to push through, squeezing into that impossibly tight channel. 

Potter groaned again like it was everything he’d been wanting.

So, of course, I withdrew.

Because, well, teasing.

Potter made a sound like someone had just rid him of his favourite toy, and I smirked to myself.

“Slut,” I murmured to him, almost an endearment, smacking his perfect arse as I pushed back in, this time going further, slowly. So. Fucking. Slowly. 

I could feel Harry pushing back, trying to get more of my cock into him, so I stilled him immediately with my hands, holding him until I’d pushed in about halfway. 

I’d be lying if I said I’d paused just to tease Potter. 

Truth was I needed a second to still my brain as it tried to make sense of the absolutely incredible feel of Potter’s arse wrapped around my dick. He was so goddamned tight. It just wasn’t fair.

I slowly withdrew, enjoying the squeeze as Potter gripped me on the way out.

I repeated the process, pushing, achingly slow into that tight channel, revelling in how tight he was around me, despite being loose enough to practically swallow me as I pushed in.

Potter was practically shouting an incoherent babble about the universe being unfair and needing my cock, and I would be lying if I said I didn’t fucking love it.

Apparently, fucking the Boy-Who-Lived slowly and thoroughly turned him into a pile of foul-mouthed goo.

“Tell me, Potter,” I asked, slowly pushing my cock halfway into him, then out, before continuing. “When did you figure out you were such a massive cock-slut?”

Potter didn’t respond. Couldn’t respond. Just made some lust-blown noise.

“What was that?” I asked, silently thanking my Pureblood upbringing that my voice sounded sure and steady.

Potter responded by shoving back and it was all I could do to keep my hips from slamming forward into that tight heat like I wanted.

“Ah-ah-ah,” I chided, instead, hands reaching down to grip those hips and keep them still. “Patience, kitten.”

I withdrew completely, then fastened my mouth on his arse again. 

Because, apparently, I was a starving man and Harry’s arse was a life-giving source.

“You fucking slut, Potter,” I sighed, gripping his hips again, and lining my cock up with his hole.

“Yes, oh, fuck, Merlin, yes.” He was babbling now.

“What do you want?” I asked, circling that pulsing hole with the tip of my dick, as though I didn’t know exactly what Potter wanted.

I pushed forward again, and that sweet fucking hole of his practically swallowed me whole. I continued to push forward, further and further, this time.

Once I was just over half-way in, I reached out and ran a hand slowly along his side. Could I?

Harry pushed backwards, slowly, his arse taking another centimetre, and I had to close my eyes as I continued to push in further. Was this really happening?

“Gods, you’re fucking tight, Potter,” I whispered.

I continued to press forward, centimetre by centimetre. 

Potter gasped, pushing back, welcoming the stretch, and I held my breath as I finally bottomed out.

“Fuck,” I murmured as my balls finally nestled up against Potter’s arse, resting there a bit, both giving him some time to adjust and giving myself a moment to process the unbelievable feeling of being fully engulfed by the incredible heat of his arse. 

Potter sighed contentedly and drew his hips forward slightly.

“I’m ready,” he gasped, sliding himself back the few centimetres he’d just pulled off. 

I just stared at the sight of my thick cock disappearing into that gorgeous arse and next thing I knew, he was pulling himself slowly up my length, and I watched, mesmerised as his tight little, pink hole dragged itself around me, catching around the thick head, where Potter gave an absolutely wicked squeeze, and I briefly wondered if it was actually possible to die from fucking. 

I let out a noise somewhere between a moan and a sob and next second Harry was slipping back onto me, his greedy arse swallowing me back into that velvety heat, squeezing occasionally and sighing quietly. 

Merlin, but I could watch this all day. 

Potter continued to fuck himself, up and down my entire length. One. Two. Three more excruciatingly slow slides before I grabbed those damned hips to stop him.

“Fuck me,” he moaned, and I wasn’t sure if he was begging or demanding, but fuck Merlin if I wasn’t going to give him what he wanted. 

I thrust into him, burying myself in him before withdrawing completely and plunging back in again. 

“Oh, _fuck_ , yes,” he yelled out, as I withdrew again, his arse releasing me with a pop, before thrusting back in. 

“Gods, Potter, how is your arse so fucking _perfect?_ ” 

He didn’t answer, of course, only folded his arms under his head, angling his hips up and back so that I could fuck into him even more deeply; of course, I was only too happy to oblige, setting a steady rhythm, searching for the right angle to catch that bundle of nerves that would have Potter squirming and moaning beneath me. 

There, I thought triumphantly, as Potter gave an anguished jerk and cried out beneath me.

I picked up the pace and began to thrust in and out of his arse continuously, losing myself in the nearly constant moans he was letting out as he shoved his hips back to meet me. 

“You fucking slut, Potter,” I ground out, not sure how I was managing to speak, I was fucking him so hard. 

“Absolutely dying for my cock. Tell me, is this deep enough for you?” 

I twisted my hips as I slammed into him, shoving into him an extra few millimetres, and Potter cried out in response. 

“I bet I could stop right now and you’d just keep fucking yourself on me. I don’t even know why I’m putting in all this effort,” I gasped out. 

Potter was begging below me, hips pistoning back to meet each thrust halfway, proving that if I had stopped, he would have absolutely kept fucking himself shamelessly on my cock. He reached a hand down towards his own length and I swatted it away immediately.

“What did I tell you earlier?” I snapped, giving him a particularly vicious thrust. 

“Hands off. You’re going to cum from just my cock fucking you wide open, aren’t you? I want to feel this sweet arse of yours clenching around me and hear you scream in absolute bliss knowing it was just. My. Cock.” 

I slowed and accentuated these last three words with three, long, deep thrusts that had Potter gasping beneath me. 

I withdrew completely, then, relishing in Potter’s abrupt yelp of protest, head whipping around, those green eyes looking at me wildly. 

“Just think, Potter, the fun we could’ve had at school if only I’d thought to push your buttons differently,” I mused, sliding two fingers back inside of him. 

He groaned, and those eyes flickered shut. 

“You’re going to fucking kill me,” he muttered. “Voldemort’s gone… but his supporters …someone… they hired you… going to fuck me to death.” He was babbling now, and I could hardly hear him over the lewd squelching noises his arse was making as I worked my fingers in and out of him. 

“I most certainly do not support anyone stupid enough to follow a dead, megalomaniac, madman,” I soothed, lowering myself so that I could watch my fingers being swallowed by that mesmerising pink pucker more closely. 

“But if I were trying to kill you, would this be such a bad way to go?” 

I added a third finger and watched as it slipped in easily beside the other two and stifled a groan as I leaned forward to lick at that sensitive spot between his balls and his opening, following with a covetous suck to the delicate skin there, relishing in the moan that vibrated throughout Potter’s entire body. 

I flipped him over, rearranging the pillow beneath his hips, pushing his legs to bend up and open at the knee, staring down at the sight he made, spread out before me. 

His hand reached down again, and I raised a brow at him.

“Potter….” 

He groaned, canting his hips upwards, seeking any kind of touch, and threw his arm across his face, muttering something.

“What was that?” I asked, turning to nuzzle along the crease behind his right knee, trailing my lips down his thigh, moving towards the juncture of thigh and hip, sinking to my knees.

“Stop being a tease, Malfoy,” he rasped out just as I licked a greedy path up his cock. 

“I’m sorry,” I drawled, swirling my tongue around the satiny head and allowing myself a quick suck. 

“I didn’t quite catch that.” 

I gave him another slow lick, pressing my tongue into the thick vein running up his shaft, lapping at the sweet spot where his head connected to the shaft. 

“It sounded like.” 

I paused to allow myself another lick. 

“You were calling me,” another lick up that luscious cock. Because I deserved it. 

“A tease.” 

I devoured Potter in one go, feeling him slide into my throat as I swallowed around him and he yelped. 

I popped his prick out of my mouth and continued as though I didn’t have a delicious cock belonging to an utterly delicious man standing before me. 

“Which is entirely false.” 

I sucked him down again, hollowing my cheeks as I slid back off. 

“We both know that _you’re_ the tease, Potter,” I finished, sucking him down again, eyes sliding shut as I hummed in pleasure around his thick shaft. 

“I’m not. I’m… I don’t,” he gasped out in protest.

“Oh, but you are,” I insisted, standing to look at him. Merlin, he was a wreck, eyes positively blown out, the green almost too intense against his face, cheeks pink with arousal, that perfect mouth, red and swollen, teeth still grabbing the lower lip in as he stared up at me. 

“I…” 

“Look at you, with those come-fuck-me eyes.” 

He snapped them shut, and I nearly chuckled at his attempt to hide them from me. 

“Your come-fuck-me mouth,” I went on, reaching out to trace my thumb along his plump bottom lip and the wanton little slut immediately tried to suck it into his mouth. 

I smacked him gently across his cheek and noted that his eyes flared and he moaned softly. 

Saint Potter liked being smacked, apparently. Not that I needed to remember that because, fuck, this was never happening again. 

“See?” I told him, smirking, returning my thumb to his mouth, this time allowing him to suck it into that unholy mouth of his. He moaned around it, and I watched him unabashedly suck on it for a bit.

“And then there are all those _noises_ you make,” I groaned out, eyes squeezing shut, and I swallowed thickly. 

“Do you have any fucking idea, Potter?” 

He just groaned around my thumb. 

“I’ve already told you, I’d have fucked you senseless, and we’d be done already if you didn’t keep making all those beautiful fucking _noises.”_ I paused. 

“But you _do_ keep making them,” I accused, trailing my hands down his thighs, spreading Harry open again. 

“So I have to keep _making_ you make them,” I told him, leaning a kiss into his inner thigh, gazing up at Harry as he positively mauled his lip to keep from making any noise. 

“To see how _long_ I can keep you making them,” I clarified, turning to kiss his other thigh, turning my face to look at him, eyes absolutely gleaming with lust, I was sure. 

He let out a whimper, and I smirked.

“Tease.” 

Then I was back at his hole, slurping and kissing into it because my Harry moaned so fucking sweetly when I kissed him there. 

His moans elevated to whines, loud and shameless.

“Mmm,” I murmured, pulling away reluctantly. 

“You do make the most delicious moans when I do that,” I sighed, licking into him hungrily. 

“Why is that?”

“I… how… nnngggh!” 

Harry struggled onto his elbows to give me a disbelieving look. 

I chuckled, knowing exactly what he was thinking, and went back to licking and sucking at him. 

Hell, if I was getting one shot at the Boy-Who-Lived’s arsehole, I was going to indulge. 

“Is it,” I wondered aloud, still lapping at his hole, a nip at his thigh, a swipe at his balls, “ _only_ because you like how it feels?” 

I accented this by delicately tracing his rim with the very tip of my tongue, revelling in the way he shuddered above me. 

“Or maybe there’s something sinfully hot about how dirty it is.” 

I sucked obscenely at his hole before continuing. 

“That someone has their mouth on you here.” 

I leaned in to press a gentle, chaste kiss against Potter’s trembling hole. 

“That someone is opening you with their tongue. Fucking you with their tongue.”

I sighed, stabbing my tongue in and out him, then withdrew my tongue and sighed again. 

“That they _like_ it?” 

I allowed myself another languid lick, groaning with want. 

Potter’s hands threaded down into my hair, pulling me closer. 

“Maybe because it’s me?” I asked, allowing myself to look up at him, tongue and mouth still licking him, sucking him, kissing him. 

Potter positively keened, back arching off the bed. 

I gave his delectable arse one last lick before looking up at him from between his thighs.

“Tell me, Potter,” I murmured again, “all the times you’ve told me to kiss your arse…” 

I practically giggled, remembering our teenaged selves, his ire, my childish antics. 

“Did you ever once imagine that it’d be like this?” 

I couldn’t help it. I was definitely sniggering now. 

“No… can’t say that I had,” he laughed out, after a moment’s reflection. 

I stood up again, fingers delving back into that supple arse, scissoring to loosen him up again, wandlessly summoning the phial of home-brewed lube I kept in my trousers. I reached out to grab it as it shot into my hand and saw Potter visibly shudder. 

“Like that?” He nodded, eagerly. 

“I did that once on accident with a muggle,” I pulled a face, remembering the shock on the poor bloke’s face when the phial had zoomed across the room and into my outstretched hand. 

“Poor bloke definitely did not have the same reaction.” 

I unscrewed the cap and poured some over my cock, taking my hand to stroke it gently up and down my length. 

Potter’s eyes were riveted. 

“What did you do?” 

I shrugged, wiping my hand off on the sheet below me. 

“Obliviated him of a few, short seconds.” I grabbed his legs and lined myself up with his entrance, looking up at him. 

“But enough chit-chat, Potter. I’m going to fuck you now.” 

“Finally,” he murmured, eyes sliding shut as I pushed into him. 

I didn’t stop this time, and my breath caught on that deep slide in. 

I pulled my lower lip in with my teeth because I’d be fucked if I didn’t admit that Potter’s arse was delicious and tight and warm and fucking _perfect_. 

Bastard squeezed around me, urging me forward.

“Tease,” I rasped out, sliding back out, then back in, just about halfway a few times, before pressing in all the way and then sliding out, setting a steady rhythm, hooking Potter’s left leg over my shoulder, trying to find that spot again.

“Fuck,” he practically screamed. 

“Oh, fuck, yes, please….” 

I adjusted myself to keep hitting that sweet spot with every thrust, picking up speed.

“Fuck yeah, Potter,” I gasped. “That’s it, you filthy slut, take my cock. You fucking love it, don’t you?” 

“I do,” he babbled, “I fucking _love_ it. Your cock is _perfect_. Fuck me harder, _please!”_

His hands reached around to grab at my back and shoulders as I leaned forward to suck and kiss at his neck, leaving marks and not even caring. 

I wanted to mark Harry as mine. Wanted him to see the reminders and have to explain them away next day, blushing as he remembered this. 

“Is this what you were looking for, you utter cock-loving whore?”

I drove myself into him mercilessly yet he still kept raising his hips to meet me, head thrown back, gasps spilling from his mouth. 

“Is this what you wanted when you messaged me? Is my cock opening you up enough, you fucking slut? When you're on your broomstick tomorrow at practice will you even be able to sit on it properly?” 

I’d always been verbose, but something about Potter made me go into over-drive. 

Big fucking surprise there. 

“Yes, no, oh, fuck. Yes, Malfoy, _please_ ,” he gasped in response, barely coherent and I knew he was close. 

I grabbed his ankles and shoved his legs as far apart as they would go and began to fuck him as hard as I possibly could, slamming into his arse, feeling as though I could plough right through him, the slapping of our bodies meeting echoing throughout the room. Potter’s eyes rolled back into his head and he snapped them shut.

“Malfoy, I’m… close, so fucking close. _Please.”_

Well, fuck. How could I deny that? 

I fucked Potter even harder into that mattress, watching as he edged closer, then let go of his legs, letting them slide around my waist, drawing me closer, as I leaned forward to latch onto that patch of neck just above his collarbone.

Potter came spectacularly, screaming incoherently, his cock pulsing against my stomach, leaving thick, white stripes, one landing on his chin, I noted. 

His arse clenched around me, almost painfully, and I continued to thrust, one, two, three, and _fuck._ Stars exploded, and I squeezed my eyes shut, my orgasm ripping through me as Potter’s arse continued to squeeze every drop from me. 

I sagged against him, breathing heavily, then grinned down at his heavy-lidded, post-orgasmic face, leaning in to lick the spot of cum from his chin, pushing my tongue into his mouth, and swirling it around his own tongue. 

He leaned in, clearly wanting more, but I just rolled off and flopped onto my back beside him.

“Fuck, I’m knackered,” I breathed. 

“Mmm,” Harry agreed, flicking his wrist lazily and evaporating the mess from both our laps and my eyes widened. 

Wandless magic was rare, and I’d no doubt Potter could do it if I could. 

But still. I’d only ever seen it done by older, un-sexy wizards. Like Dumbledore. Or Snape. Or Voldemort. Harry, hot and fit as he was, performing wandless magic, was a different story entirely.

Potter was smirking at me, knowing exactly the effect he’d had on me.

“I’ve never really seen another person do it,” I explained. “I mean, you know, our age. Not old.”

“Me neither,” he responded. 

Then he stretched languidly, arms reaching above his head, back arching off the bed, and, even though I’d just cum, my cock was definitely interested. 

Wanker. 

“Where’d you learn to eat arse like that?” Harry flipped onto his side to look at me earnestly, those eyes sparkling. 

I couldn’t help it. I burst out laughing, eyes snapping shut, my back actually arching off the bed. Oh, Harry. 

I took a few seconds to regain control of my breathing, then rolled over on my right side to look at him, still laughing quietly. 

“Of all the fucking questions you could have asked me about this _entire_ encounter, _that’s_ what you lead with?” I gasped out. Harry shrugged and lowered his eyes. 

“Where’d I learn to eat arse,” I mumbled, still snickering, and I noted the blush creeping up Harry’s cheeks and it dawned on me that he thought I was laughing _at_ him. 

I reached out and gently tilted his chin up, met by those incredible eyes, looking a bit suspicious. I smiled down at Harry indulgently. 

“I don’t know, Harry, I suppose I learnt it the way you’d learn anything else,” I said, finally. “Desire to succeed and lots of practice,” I wiggled my eyebrows at him in, what I hoped, was a mood-lightening gesture and Harry snorted with laughter. 

Then he sobered.

“You called me Harry,” he said, raising up on one elbow to look at me curiously. 

Shit. 

I made the effort to frown slightly, as though in thought. Not like I’d been thinking of him as fucking Harry. 

“I suppose once you’ve had your face buried up a man’s arse you’re allowed to use his given name,” I offered. 

“Although Potter does have a certain ring to it. I suppose I’ll decide to use both.” 

Harry shrugged, and I breathed an invisible sigh of relief. 

“You never did answer my question,” I added, accusingly, desperate to get the conversation steered away from names and surnames. 

Potter stared at me, confused. I was sure he had no recollection of me asking when he’d realised he was a cock-whore. 

“When did you figure out that you’re an absolute cock-slut?”

“When did you?” 

“Let’s be serious, Harry, like there was ever any doubt which way I pulled.” I leered at him outrageously whilst propping myself up on one elbow. 

“Spill it, Potter. What little trysts did you get yourself into back at the castle?” 

Harry rolled his eyes and swatted at me with his pillow. 

“I was a little busy trying to take down a ‘ _megalomaniac_ ’ back then, if you’ll remember. I didn’t get up to much, and certainly not with any blokes,” he admitted, pulling a face. 

“And here I thought I was going to be regaled with any number of torrid tales of The-Boy-Who-Lived-to-Suck-Cock,” I sighed dramatically, flopping onto my back once more, arm draped over my forehead, in a perfect fainting couch position. 

“Shut up,” Harry snapped. “Don’t call me that.” 

“Why not?” I asked, grinning knowingly. “It’s true.” 

Harry humphed and avoided my gaze

“Don’t even try to deny it,” I countered, leaning over, pressing my body into his, peering into his face. 

“I’ve got proof,” I added, allowing my eyes to drop down to stare at that mouth again before shutting my eyes at the memory of Harry’s mouth sliding willingly around my cock. 

I shook my head quickly. 

“I’m definitely putting that one in the Pensieve,” I informed him, winking, whilst hopping off the bed and bending down to grab my trousers from the floor. 

“You Pensieve?” Potter sounded horrified. “You stash you Grindr pulls in a Pensieve?” 

“Only the really good ones,” I assured him. And Merlin, wouldn’t this be one of them. I hadn’t cum that hard in ages and fuck me if I wasn’t going to preserve every second of this night for future wanks. 

“Or for when I might need evidence. For example, when a certain someone tries to make ungodly claims like he doesn’t live to suck cock,” I teased, pulling my trousers back on and accio-ing a few bottles of water for Harry and me. 

I turned, in shock as one of the bottles zipped past me into Harry’s outstretched hand, the second bottle landing securely in my own. 

Potter merely raised an eyebrow in explanation. 

I twisted the cap off my water bottle even as I moved to straddle Potter excitedly, quickly gulping some water down before setting it down on the bedside table and grabbing his hands. 

“I bet we could accio a couple of bottles of wine up from the kitchens!” 

Potter merely rolled his eyes and gently shook his hands free of mine, opening his water and gulping it down. 

“C’mon, Potter,” I wheedled. “Do you prefer white or red? _Please?”_

 _“_ We should probably accio a spare and leave it as a sorry gift for the neighbours,” he said, setting his water bottle aside.

I quirked an eyebrow. The fuck was he talking about?

“You know, for all the noise,” he mumbled, blushing slightly. 

“I put up a Silencing charm before you got here,” I informed him, laughing, and, quite honestly, delighted that he’d been making that much noise thinking that our neighbours could have heard him. 

“Don’t you, before you hook up? Merlin, Harry, are you _sure_ you’re a wizard?” 

Harry shook his head, dazed, and I nearly cackled with glee, knowing that our Boy-Hero had, apparently, never thought to silence himself on previous dates. 

“So…red or white?” I was determined to have some wine with Potter.

“Red,” he replied, finally.

“Cab? Merlot? Zin?” I wanted to make this night perfect. “Malbec? A blend,”

“Erm,” Harry swallowed. “Red?” 

I swatted him over the head with a pillow. Trust Potter to have no knowledge of wine.

“Good thing you’ve such a sweet arse, Potter, or else I’d have to toss you and your frighteningly boorish knowledge of drink out of here.” 

I set my left leg on the floor and twisted up out of his lap, then turned to gaze down on him, wondering what sort of wine would suit him best. 

I grinned, deciding on a rich Cabernet Sauvignon that would serve to stain those gorgeous lips and even deeper red. And, perhaps, a Merlot, just for fun. 

I spun on my heel and headed towards the door, summoning the bottles in my mind, hoping the hotel had some. 

They did, and I saw them racing up the stairwell and down the corridor towards our room. I opened the door, holding my hand out, smiling at Potter excitedly, as the first bottle snapped into my waiting palm. 

I barely blinked before tossing it into the room, flicking my wand at it to send it dancing along towards the coffee table. 

I shot my hand out again to catch the second bottle, tossing it to follow the first, then summoned two glasses from the minibar to join them, setting them all on the table, wandlessly clicking the door shut as I sauntered over to settle myself on the couch, aiming my wand to uncork both bottles. 

I twisted around in my seat to look at Potter expectantly.

“They need 30 minutes to breathe,” I informed him, eyes dragging over that perfect body, noting that his cock gave a very interested twitch. I stood, dropping my trousers again as I headed towards the bathroom. A quick shower in their luscious rain showers sounded ideal. 

“Care to join me for a shower?” So, not a quick shower, then. “I know at least one of us is absolutely filthy.” 

I turned the taps on the shower and hmmed as the water, just this-side of hot, just the way I liked it, came cascading down around me. I saw Potter staring at me from the other side and smiled invitingly as I turned my face up into the spray. If only real rain could be this lovely. 

I heard Potter enter the shower and felt his hands running down over my chest, around to my back, slipping down to squeeze at my own arse, his hands sliding easily over my slick skin. 

“Mmmm,” I sighed, opening my eyes to look at him as he continued his explorations. His hands stopped to trace the old scar across my chest with interest. 

“‘m sorry,” he started, but I shushed him, pressing a finger to his lips and shaking my head. 

“I know.” 

Potter leaned in, then, and I pulled away. 

Because there was no way in hell I was going to let Potter kiss me right now. I brought my own hands up to roam across and down his magnificently muscled chest, coming to rest on his hips, thumbs sliding up and down those maddening indentations. 

“Oh,” he said, as though a light bulb had just gone off in his head, “are you one of those blokes who don’t kiss because it’s too intimate, or whatever?” 

I smirked down at him, still stroking along his hips, allowing myself an indulgent squeeze of his arse every now and then. 

“No, I quite like kissing,” I admitted. 

It was the truth, too. 

I _loved_ kissing. 

And fuck Merlin, if I were being completely honest with myself, I knew exactly why I didn’t want to kiss Harry. 

“But you seem the type to _get_ confused, so…” 

Let him think I was a stone-cold Slytherin, heartless bastard who didn’t want to crush his stupid Gryffindor tendencies. 

“Malfoy,” he was laughing, and I decided I quite liked his eyes when they were sparkling with laughter. 

“You’ve had your face shoved between my arse for the better part of the past hour. How the hell would I get confused?” 

I just lifted my finger to his lips again, then leaned in, so that I knew our lips would brush with each word I spoke. I had to distract him. 

“Shh, Potter,” I whispered, thankful that he leaned in and seemed to have forgotten all thought of kissing, for the moment. 

“Now turn around, like a good boy. I want to see if I can make you cum from just my mouth.” 

***

When Potter and I finally found ourselves lounging on the couch, wrapped in the Henrietta’s comfy bathrobes, the wine had definitely had well over thirty minutes to breathe. I poured us each a glass of the cab and handed Harry a glass.

“So,” I began, swirling the wine in my own glass, watching the trails the liquid made as it draped down the sides of the glass.

“I’m rather surprised you chose a career in Quidditch. Thought you’d want to hunker down out of the limelight.” 

I’d always been curious. 

“I’d love to,” Harry responded earnestly, eyes shining up at me as he sipped his wine, giving me a casual shrug. 

Fucking Gryffindor. 

“But that’s never going to happen, and Quidditch is the thing I love doing more than anything, so, if they’re going to keep making a celebrity of me, I might as well do something that makes me happy.” 

He took another sip of wine and glanced at me curiously, teeth all but mauling his bottom lip as he glanced nervously from his wineglass, to me, to some remote corner of the room. 

“Spit it out, Potter,” I instructed, refilling my glass and holding the bottle up in his direction questioningly. 

He nodded, and I refilled his glass as well. 

“Spit what out?” he glanced down at his glass of wine, unsure of himself. 

“You’re sitting there, mauling your lip and wrinkling your brow like thinking hurts,” I told him. 

“Whatever it is, spit it out. I’m not going to break.” 

I would’ve bet the entire contents of one of my Gringotts vaults he was wondering what I was up to and how my life was after the trial and what I thought of my father receiving the Dementor’s Kiss five years ago. 

“What have you been up to, you know, since the... erm... you know, since...” he managed.

“The trial?” I supplied, raising my brows, and Harry nodded quickly.

“Thanks for that, by the way,” I said earnestly, making sure to look Potter in the eye so he would know I was completely serious. 

“Of course.” 

“Since then, I’ve just been working,” I swirled my wine again and took another sip. 

“Why?” 

I glanced over at Potter, startled, then grinned. 

The size of the Malfoy vaults was legendary, and many wondered why I worked. 

And, for those working within my department who knew exactly how demanding and dangerous my job was, why at something, well, so demanding and dangerous. 

“What do you mean, why?” 

Merlin, he was fun to tease, no matter the context. 

“I mean,” he paused, licking his lips nervously, “Just, from what I’d heard, erm, sorry.”

Gods, he was absolutely delightful. 

“I don’t mean to be rude, but…”

“Spit it out, Harry,” I instructed, still smirking and swirling my glass. 

“I mean, you don’t _need_ to work, do you?” 

I stared at him, enjoying the blush creeping upon his face, and took a sip of wine, just to keep him waiting that much longer. 

Honestly, I could be a right bastard sometimes. 

“From what I understand, Harry, your vault is nearly as full as mine,” I countered. 

“Well, at least, as full as _one_ of them,” I grinned impishly. 

“I inherited a full seven from dear old daddy.” 

I scowled around the last few words, mentally cursing my father, wherever the fuck his spirit was now. 

“Why do _you_ work?” I asked. 

“I already told you,” he responded. “I love playing Quidditch.” 

I raised an eyebrow, hoping he’d get it. 

“You just like doing it.” 

I nodded and took another sip of wine. 

“Well, what is it that you do?”

I took another sip of wine and peered up at him through my lashes. 

“Afraid I can’t say, Potter.” 

“You’re an Unspeakable!” He looked pleased. “Hermione’s an Unspeakable, too!” 

“Well aware,” I assured him. 

“… do you two work together?”

I felt for the telltale clamp of the powerful Unspeakable Vow that kept any of us from divulging anything that we shouldn’t. 

While no one working in the Department would willingly reveal anything, it was easy to slip up after a drink too many, or while relaxing after a long day with one’s best friend or significant other. 

The vow ensured we couldn’t slip up at our most vulnerable. I tilted my head to one side, not feeling anything.

“Yes.” I tilted my head opposite and grinned at Harry. “I’m surprised I was allowed to tell you that!” 

Probably because he already knew Hermione worked in the Department of Mysteries and that he hadn’t been inquiring as to which particular room or whatnot. 

Harry smiled happily into his glass of wine, taking another sip, then glanced up at me shyly. 

Oh, hell no. 

“So… erm…” 

“Potter, don’t.” 

Shit, why the fuck had I gotten myself into this mess. 

This was already too much. 

I didn’t need him going all smoopy on me. That could only end horribly. 

“What?”

“Don’t… be a sodding Gryffindor,” I sighed, at last, gulping the last of my wine down. 

“I still have no idea what you mean when you keep saying that,” he countered, also finishing off his wine. 

“This isn’t happening again,” I informed him. 

Because it wasn’t. It couldn’t. 

“Why not?” 

“Because,” I paused to fill my glass, this time with the merlot. “That’s what Grindr’s all about. It’s finding a hook-up, for just the night.” 

““Well, yeah, but, I mean... we had a good time. Don’t get me wrong, Malfoy, I don’t want anything more from you, but in a few months when I’m horny and looking for a good lay, I don’t see anything wrong with looking you up and seeing if you’re available for another go,” he said, those stupid, fucking eyes staring earnestly into mine. 

And I’d be lying if I said I already loathed the thought of another fucking arsehole touching him, seeing him come undone, begging for _their_ cock. 

“You promise not to go all Gryffindor on me?” I hoped I sounded convincing. 

Harry, luckily, just rolled his eyes.

“For fuck’s sake, Malfoy, I still don’t know what you even mean by that,” he exploded, eyes flashing the way they used to when we were at Hogwarts and I relaxed, slightly, feeling like I was back on familiar territory. 

“But if it helps, I promise to only bring the Slytherin bits of me for all future interactions, ‘s that good?” 

I looked him over one last time, smiling, because, fuck, he was pretty. 

“I suppose that could work, Potter,” I said finally, raising my glass towards his for a toast. 


	5. Round Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry decides it's time for he and Draco to meet up again. 
> 
> A really crappy summary, but I don't want to give anything away. 
> 
> It's worth it, promise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Sunday, all.  
> I'd hoped to post two chapters this weekend but caught a nasty cold and wasn't quite up to task. 
> 
> The fragrance Malfoy wears is Hammam Bouquet by Penhaligon (absolutely delicious, I might add). 
> 
> Although they don't make a bath oil in this fragrance, I decided that Malfoy would somehow have it, either by special order or figuring out the formula and brewing it himself. 
> 
> As always, enjoy, and comments are always appreciated.

_Tuesday Evening_

_14 July 2009_

_Harry's POV_

It was the weekend, my weekend, anyhow, and I was swiping my way through Grindr, looking to release some stress following the heinous practice schedule McLeod had adopted following our narrow win over the Falmouth Falcons week prior. 

Campbell and McFarlan, two of our Chasers, had enjoyed themselves quite a bit the night before the match, and it showed. They were sluggish and dropped the Quaffle entirely too many times, leaving Wood (yes, _that_ Wood, still my team Captain, and still as fanatical as ever) trying to defend our hoops against what must have been hundreds of shots fired by the three Falcon Chasers. 

They scored seventeen goals in the first thirty minutes alone. _Seventeen._

I cringed again at the thought. The match had dragged on, with me purposely evading the goddamned Snitch and either trying to lead their Seeker, Michael Johnson, away from it, or else chasing him as he streaked after the tiny golden target and making sure I got in the way to keep him from catching it. 

The damned Snitch itself seemed to have gotten bored, maybe even a little confused, as to why I kept flying towards it and not catching it that it took off for a bloody three hours.

At least that gave Robins, our reserve Seeker a good hour to fly around the pitch and experience the game a bit. 

He was new. 

Our reserve Seeker was always new because, well, Coach never really played them, with me around. The Magpies had become a sort of unofficial training camp for young Seekers looking for some hands-on experience and the resume-boosting fact of having played for the Magpies before heading off to snag their own spots on other teams around the world, becoming Quidditch coaches at one of the various wizarding schools, offering private flying lessons, or any number of jobs out there benefitting from them casually mentioning how they’d trained alongside the great Harry Potter. 

By the time I was back on my broom and glimpsed the Snitch again, we’d finally caught up the gap, 260-120, and I dived, catching the Snitch, Johnson crashing to the ground behind me, splintering his broom, sliding about six metres along the pitch, tearing himself up spectacularly, limbs bent at odd angles indicating several broken bones. 

Idiot. As though he could’ve caught me. 

Don’t get me wrong, there were a lot of excellent Seekers out there who could’ve kept up and possibly grabbed the Snitch before I had. Johnson just wasn’t one of them. 

McLeod had been furious and, as a result, we’d spent the past week putting in extra hours, upping our training schedule, and practising plays until even I could have filled in for one of our Chasers or Beaters with my eyes closed. 

I was ready for my days off and some fun, to say the least. 

Problem was, I wasn’t finding anything, any _one_ rather, who was piquing my interest. 

I’d been quite active on Grindr the past few weeks, and, usually, enjoyed myself. 

Thing was, I kept thinking back to Malfoy.

Merlin, that had been some amazing sex. 

When we’d parted, I’d told him it’d be a couple of months and that I wouldn’t be a Gryffindor, whatever the hell that meant. 

It’d been just over a month. Would Malfoy be game? 

What the hell, I told myself, pulling up the screen with my last chat from Malfoy. 

It’d been a terrible week. I deserved to treat myself. 

***

I’ll admit, I was rather surprised when Malfoy agreed to a second meeting so easily. 

“So… ready for Round Two?” I’d messaged, sending another gratuitous nude, this time not bothering to hide my face, giving him a cheeky wink in the photo. 

“Sure,” the response had come less than five minutes later (not that I was counting). “Can you come to mine? I’ll adjust the wards.”

Could I ever. 

Instead, I texted: 

“Sure. Send the coordinates. See you soon.” 

A few minutes later, I found myself in a large reception with dark hardwood floors and big windows overlooking one of those fancy, historic red-brick buildings so that I knew I had apparated to somewhere posh like Knightsbridge or Mayfair. Because of course, Malfoy would live somewhere posh. 

The flat was simply decorated in a contemporary style that I would not have equated with Malfoy, having seen where he grew up. 

Then again, this would be the perfect rebellion against all that opulence. 

There was a small dining area immediately to my right, holding a dark, square table, surrounded by four, comfortable-looking grey-ish dining chairs. You know, those modern-looking ones that actually look like you’d want to sit in them, almost like an armchair, but without the arms?

Instead of one chair taking up each of the four sides of the table, two of them were placed on the same side of the table that faced the wall.

The side of the table nearest the wall had a small loveseat nestled between two white storage cabinets that ran floor-to-ceiling. Three slender, elegant, silver chandeliers cast a soft light over the table. 

How Malfoy’s dining nook managed to look cosy and inviting set in the wide-open of a sprawling double reception was beyond me, but it did. 

It looked as though he could, and did, often gather a party of six around his table for languid dinners that stretched over hours, bottles of wine being passed while the group bantered and conversed long into the night. 

Just beyond the dining room was the sitting room with two plush couches arranged in an L-shape towards the giant telly and two large windows on the opposite wall. 

They were wide, deep couches that looked made, specifically, for whiling away afternoons watching said telly, and also in a light greyish colour that I’m positive Malfoy selected to accent his eyes. 

A sleek black marble slab balanced atop a simple chrome frame served as his coffee table, accented by matching side tables flanking each couch, each topped with a table lamp made of elegantly tapering silver, covered with a cream-coloured round shade that ensured a comfortable glow, presumably to continue the conversations begun over dinner. 

“Potter?” Malfoy’s voice questioned, somewhere to my left.

“Yeah,” I responded, still looking around the flat, a hallway just in front of me that appeared to lead to the bedroom piqued my interest before my gaze fell on the silvery console table against the wall to my left with a simple leather valet holding some keys and Malfoy’s mobile. 

A large, circular mirror hung above it, and I glanced at it to check my reflection. It responded by giving me a wolf-whistle, and I grinned, despite myself. 

“My mirror likes you,” Malfoy informed me, smirking down at me as he appeared in the doorway just to the left of the console, presumably coming from the kitchen, seeing as he was holding two glasses of wine, one stretched out towards me. 

“Then again, it does have impeccable taste,” he added, eyes giving me the once-over. 

“Thanks.” I smiled at him, raking my eyes over him in return as I took the offered glass. 

Malfoy was wearing only pyjama bottoms, a dark, charcoal-grey colour, that looked great against his pale skin and showed off his slim, muscular build.

He was fucking _perfect_.

Fit, but not bulky. Like he kept himself in shape but didn’t obsess at the gym for hours. 

He sauntered over to the small loveseat situated around his dining table and I followed.

He sat, crossed his long legs elegantly, and gazed up at me, grey-blue eyes eyeing me hungrily as I stopped before him, pulling out the chair nearest me to sit down. 

Malfoy took a sip of his wine, eyes still looking me up and down, as though he could see right through my clothing and was eyeing me naked. 

I sipped my wine nervously and stared back at him. 

“Potter,” he said, finally, swirling his glass delicately. 

“Hmm?” I responded immediately, hoping I didn’t sound too eager.

Knowing entirely that I absolutely did at Malfoy’s positively evil smirk. 

“I thought we’d try something a little less… vanilla, tonight,” he went on, taking another sip of wine. “You game?” 

My breath hitched, and I gripped my wine glass a little more tightly. 

“Like what?” I asked. My voice had gone breathy and my cock gave an excited shiver. 

“Scared, Potter?” he asked, grinning at me. I grinned back. 

“You wish,” I replied, amazed at how we'd both remembered that stupid banter before our very first duel. 

“Well, then,” he drawled, setting his wineglass on the table. “Strip.” 

It was a command and my cock had decided it very much liked when Malfoy commanded me to do things. 

I stood, ridding myself of my clothes, and waited. 

Malfoy’s eyes made another casual once-over of me, taking another sip of wine. Eyes pausing at my half-hard cock rising between my thighs before snapping back up to meet my gaze with a knowing smile. 

“Now kneel. With your knees wide,” he ordered. 

If I’d have dropped any more quickly, my kneecaps would have cracked. 

“Wider,” he instructed. 

And if I didn’t already feel dirty, spreading my knees as wide as they could go and looking up at him expectantly. Awaiting the next command. 

Malfoy’s eyes were already shining with lust and I could see his cock rising, tenting his pyjamas. Well, that made two of us, at least. 

“Close your eyes,” he instructed, pulling a wide, satiny band from the pocket of his pyjamas and running it slowly between his fingers. 

Oh. 

My eyes snapped shut, and I wondered, again, why I was trusting Malfoy, of all people, with my eyes closed. 

I heard him rise from the sofa and felt the sleek satin of the blindfold sliding over my eyes, Malfoy deftly tying a knot to keep it in place and I couldn’t help the audible intake of breath I made. 

He ran a hand down through my hair, stroking the back of my neck, sliding down my back as he knelt behind me, cock just barely grazing my lower back and I had to bite my lip to suppress a groan. 

Then he was gently twisting my arms behind my back, guiding each hand to grasp the opposite elbow, then twisting another length of satin around them to hold them in place.

I stilled for a second. I was completely at his mercy. 

“Don’t worry, Harry,” Malfoy’s soothing voice reasoned in my ear, hands moving to caress me, “We both know you could get yourself out of these stupid ties in half a second if you wanted to.” 

And I sighed a small breath of relief at that. 

Because he was right, and suddenly I welcomed the feeling of being, well, somewhat helpless to his ministrations. 

There was a short pause then I felt one of Malfoy’s long, slender fingers teasing at my entrance, lube, warmed by a wordless spell, helping to slick its way inside. 

I did groan at that and comforted myself with the knowledge that, last time, Malfoy had seemed pretty damned pleased with all my noises. 

“Already so goddamn eager,” he sighed, pushing that finger in and out of me, slowly. 

He had to know that drove me crazy. Had to be doing that on purpose. 

“Already pressing back for more like a fucking whore,” he went on. 

And he was right, of course, I was rolling my hips back slowly, trying to get more of Malfoy’s stupid finger inside of me. 

He let this continue for a few strokes before adding a second, working them inside of me, still maddeningly slow. 

“You love having anything inside your arse, don’t you, Potter,” he asked, twisting his fingers up then crooking them down inside of me. 

“I bet I could shove just about anything up this sweet arse of yours and you’d just keep making those delectable little noises,” his fingers twisted and brushed that spot and I cried out as if to accentuate his point, “just like you’re doing now.” 

I leaned back, settling my head in the crook of his neck, allowing him to drive those fingers deeper inside of me, and Malfoy turned his head towards me, inhaling deeply into my tangle of hair. 

“No, Harry,” he murmured, tilting me back upright, “You need to stay up.” 

He withdrew his fingers, settling his hands briefly along my hips, leaning in to nuzzle at the base of my neck and I sighed happily. 

Next second, I felt the rounded head of a dildo pushing gently against my opening, and Malfoy slowly pushed it in, twisting and turning it. 

All the while he kept nuzzling at my neck and nipping at my ears, earning him more moans, until the dildo was nestled firmly in my arse and I could only gasp at the feeling of fullness it brought me. 

It wasn’t nearly as large as Malfoy, but it was big enough if I was being entirely honest. He stayed there for a bit, hands running slowly up and down my sides, soothing me. 

Then he was gone, and I made a noise of complaint at the sudden missing warmth. 

“Count,” he commanded. 

“What?”

A smack resounded in the silent flat as Malfoy swatted my arse with, what felt to be, a thin, wooden paddle. 

It smarted, but not _too_ much and I gasped. 

If anyone had ever told me I’d enjoy being spanked before that moment, I’d probably have hexed them into the next week. 

“Potter?” Malfoy drawled expectantly. What? Oh. Right.

“O-one?” I offered, tentatively. 

“Yes, that’s generally what we start with,” Malfoy replied, and I could just hear the smirk in his voice. 

The paddle landed again.

“Two,” I managed, half-moaning the word out. 

“Slut,” Malfoy teased, smacking my arse again. 

Of course, I actually did moan out the number three. And four, five, and six, as well. 

Malfoy wasn’t keeping any specific rhythm, which only heightened my arousal.

Well, that, and the fact that I was tied up and blindfolded with a dildo up my arse, all but begging Malfoy to paddle my arse again. 

My dick was jutting out in front of me, red and dripping, I was sure, and I _really_ wanted to reach a hand down to grasp it and begin stroking myself and groaned, this time in frustration, as my hands worked against their bonds. 

Malfoy continued to paddle my arse whilst I continued to grind out the numbers, my voice becoming more lust-blown with each smack, even to my own ears. 

_Merlin,_ Harry, you’re really acting a slut this time. 

There was a pause in the paddling, and I waited, ears listening for the slightest sound, then remembered that Malfoy moved with the stealth of a cat. 

And he called _me_ kitten. 

It was silent, and I waited in the darkness, wondering what would come next. 

“Come, Harry,” Malfoy’s voice called suddenly from the opposite end of the reception. “Find me.” 

I stood, awkwardly, turned, and took a few tentative steps in the direction of his voice, then paused. 

Sure, I had done a cursory sweep of his flat when I’d arrived but was still hesitant. 

Was there anything quite as annoying as banging one’s shins on a coffee table? Blindfolded, hands bound, and with a dildo up your arse, I might add. 

“You’re fine, Harry,” Malfoy encouraged. “There’s nothing in your way.” 

I continued, still moving slowly, towards Malfoy’s voice. 

“I’ve got a wonderful treat for you, once you do find me,” he continued, his voice both teasing me and guiding me. 

“You’re going to _love_ it.” I was close, I could tell. 

“There, now Harry, on your left.” 

So he was sitting on the couch placed against the wall opposite the telly. 

I turned and waited, expectantly. 

“Back on your knees,” he instructed, voice soft. 

I obeyed, immediately, not even thinking to be embarrassed. 

“Suck it,” came the next command, and I leaned forward, lips parted, seeking Malfoy’s cock. 

A treat I’d love, indeed. 

My cheek grazed the silken head, and I turned instantly to slurp the wide tip into my mouth, groaning as I reached forward, taking him in, centimetre by centimetre. 

“Fuck, Potter,” Malfoy ground out above me, hands twisting gently into my hair, not too much, still letting me set the pace. 

“Did you follow a rigorous training program to be able to suck cock the way you do, or did it all come naturally?” 

I didn’t answer, merely just kept sliding my mouth down Malfoy’s length, swallowing him eagerly, relishing the taste and musky smell of him as my nose buried itself in his pubic hair. 

I swallowed around him again, just for the satisfaction of hearing him groan, before hollowing my cheeks and sliding back up, popping him from my pursed lips with a smacking noise, tongue reaching out to lick gently at the delicate crease where Malfoy’s thick head connected to his shaft. 

I continued to lap and lick my way down just one side of his shaft, pausing to give a loud suck about halfway down as I worked my way to the base of his cock. 

Then, I slowly licked my way up, teasing along the vein pulsing along the underside with just the tip of my tongue. 

I made to repeat the motion a second time, but Malfoy’s hand suddenly clamped in my hair.

“I said _suck_ it, Potter,” he growled, holding my head in place and feeding his dick into my mouth to emphasise his point. 

I moaned and inhaled the rest of him down, giving in completely to my mission of sucking Malfoy’s cock. 

My knees were hurting at this point and I shifted awkwardly with my hands behind my back, mouth and throat still working their way down and around his shaft as I tried to get more comfortable. 

Malfoy must have noticed because next thing I knew, a cushioning charm was cradling my knees, and I could concentrate fully on sucking his cock down now. 

I’d been surprised when Hermione, Luna, and other girls I knew talked about sucking cock like it was a chore. 

Not quite something they disliked, necessarily, but did because they either loved the men they were with or got off on the power they wielded when on their knees, mouths sucking sweetly. And certainly not something they fantasised about. 

I hadn’t realised that sucking cock wasn’t an exquisite delight for, well, anyone interested in cock. 

For me, it was a multi-sensory delight, involving all five senses. 

Well, usually. 

The sight of said cock and its owner enjoying my ministrations were absent tonight. 

I gasped as the dildo in my arse began to vibrate, suddenly, twisting and moving slowly in and out of me. 

Bastard. 

I could only groan around Malfoy’s cock as the dildo worked itself in and out of me at that same torturous pace Malfoy seemed to favour, and I began to work my hips back onto it, arching my back so that it began to glide lightly over that bundle of nerves on every stroke. And fuck, was I done for. 

I can’t even imagine the picture I made for Malfoy, prostrate between his knees, greedily slurping up and down his cock, blindfolded, hands bound, humping back wantonly onto a dildo he’d charmed to fuck my arse. 

“Do you like this, Harry?” he asked. 

Seeing as my mouth was rather occupied, I gave a long moan around his cock, hoping he’d interpret my response correctly. 

Of _course_ , I fucking liked this. 

It appeared I liked anything Malfoy did to turn me into a brazen, cock-hungry slag. 

Malfoy stood suddenly and began to fuck my face, following the same agonisingly slow pace as the dildo, pulling out of my mouth as said dildo fucked slowly into me and vice versa, like it and Malfoy were one giant cock, working in tandem. 

Merlin, he really was a fucking bastard. 

“Being fucked at both ends, stuffed full, can’t even make a sound other than moaning your pleasure,” he continued, again, voice sounding casual, as though he weren’t at all turned on by the sight of me before him. 

His leaking cock told me otherwise, and I swirled my tongue around his head, gathering the pre-cum and swallowing it greedily. 

“How many times have you fantasised about this, Potter?” he demanded, still fucking me, slowly, in time with the dildo, hands twisting in my hair to hold me in place. “How many times have you imagined being fucked in both holes at once? Is it everything you wanted it to be? Should I have called another bloke?” 

Fuck, where did Malfoy’s mouth come up with this stuff? 

“Because we could,” he began to pick up the pace, just slightly here, dildo following suit, and I, again, moaned my pleasure, hoping he’d pick up even more. 

Because you see, I really wanted that dildo to start moving a lot more quickly. 

“I could snap a photo of you right now,” he told me, one hand sliding down to caress my cheek. 

“That unholy fucking mouth of yours wrapped tight around my dick with a giant, black dildo fucking in and out of that sweet, pink hole of yours. You begging for more.” 

He picked up the pace again, finally fucking me and allowing the dildo to follow his demanding pace into my arse. 

“What do you think, Potter?” he gasped out. “Think we’d have any takers?” 

Merlin, he had a filthy mouth. 

He continued to fuck me, the dildo enchanted to thrust in perfect time with him, relishing in my groans vibrating down the length of his cock. 

The angle of the dildo changed again, now hitting my prostate head-on and I all but screamed around Malfoy’s cock. 

I was going to cum any second now, and _Merlin_ , it was going to be a good one. 

Not that I’d had any doubt when I’d reached out to Malfoy earlier tonight. 

“Oh, Harry,” he crooned, almost gently, sliding his dick suddenly from my mouth, the dildo stopping immediately, lodged fully up my arse, leaving me full, and wanting. 

Gasping.

“What. The. Fuck. Malfoy,” I all but howled and I could feel the lights in Malfoy's flat flicker off plunging him into darkness for a few seconds as I momentarily lost control of my magic. 

The fucking _bastard_. 

My chest was heaving, and I was glad I was blindfolded now, because I’m sure my eyes would have been two hazy, lust-blown orbs that couldn’t focus properly, giving Malfoy even more satisfaction in seeing how he could toy with me. 

I honestly would have done anything to cum right then, and I almost laughed as I thought how easily Voldemort could have defeated me if only he’d known that Draco Malfoy’s cock was the secret weapon. 

“Do you know why I stopped, kitten?” he asked, hand caressing my cheek affectionately, and I turned my face to nuzzle into his palm, needing any physical contact I could get. 

“Cause you’re a bastard,” I mumbled, still rubbing my face into his palm, mouth nipping gently along his palm and the side of his thumb. 

Malfoy chuckled.

“You know damn well I’m no bastard, Potter,” he chided. 

True, he was now the reigning Lord of Malfoy Estate. The most un-bastardly thing possible in our little, title-obsessed corner of the world. 

Malfoy’s hand continued carding through my hair, watching my ragged breathing slow as my head followed and nuzzled into him like an attention-starved kitten. Living up to his little pet name, because of _course_ I did. 

“If only you weren’t so fun to tease, Potter,” he sighed, hand running through my hair again, fingers tracing back around to run delicately across my lips. 

“We’d already be done,” I murmured, remembering his “lecture” from last time. 

“Quite right, pet,” he agreed, slipping his hand gently around the back of my neck and urging me forward. 

My mouth opened immediately, seeking his cock, and he obliged, slipping in a few short centimetres before sliding right back out and away from my reach. 

He laughed softly at the noise I made and he ran his thumb along my bottom lip, allowing me to take it into my mouth and suck it in as a poor substitute for that fucking cock he’d been gifted with. Arse. 

“But seriously, Potter,” he said, as though these were the most normal circumstances under which to conduct a conversation, “when _did_ you discover you were such a wanton cock-whore?” 

I sighed and relinquished his thumb as he slid it from my mouth. 

“After the war,” I replied, knowing Malfoy wasn’t going to give me anything I wanted until his little curiosities were answered. “You know, once I had time to think about normal teenaged stuff.” 

“So you started fooling around with blokes then, or were you just fantasising?” 

“Both,” I admitted, clenching involuntarily around the dildo, still lodged up my arse. 

“But the Weasley girl? Weren’t you two married for a bit?” 

Fucking seriously, Malfoy? How could he talk about this right now? 

“We were.” His hand was still carding through my hair absently. 

“Now, forgive me if I’m out of line, here, but you’ve just told me that you were fucking…” he paused, and I just knew the bastard was smirking, “… being _fucked_ by boys,” he amended cheekily. 

“I tried both,” I admitted, truthfully. “Just to be sure.” 

“But you and the Weasle … I mean, Ginny, were married for years,” he reasoned. “I don’t know the Weasly clan all _that_ well, but I feel like, based on what I _do_ know, they would have hexed you to pieces and you and Ron would _not_ be friends right now, had they found out you were using their baby sister to cover up your sexuality.” 

I frowned. He was right, of course. Except. 

“Potter,” he said, sounding very serious. “You know that anything that is said, or that takes place here, doesn’t leave here, don’t you?”

“Let’s just… let’s just say we kept each other’s secret,” I sighed finally. "She's queer, too." 

“Hold on, just a second,” and I could just hear the glee and see the excited smile spreading across his face. “You mean to tell me that she was your _beard?!_ ” 

You’d have thought it was the best story he’d ever heard in his entire life, and I smiled a little at that.

“My bright, shiny, red one,” I quipped. 

“So, what happened, I mean, you both just decided you’d had enough?” 

I shrugged. 

“We decided the beard didn’t match my complexion.” 

That was really Ron’s joke, but it was funny and I didn’t mind borrowing it right now.

And, judging by Malfoy’s guffaw, he thought it was a good one, too. 

“No, love, can’t say that it would.” 

“Malfoy, seriously, though,” I’d nearly lost my erection at this point. “Why the fuck are we talking about this right now for?” 

He was suddenly on his knees, arms twining up around my back to caress the back of my head, pulling me close and my cock definitely took note and quickly started perking up again. 

“I’m talking you down,” he explained quietly, words ghosting around the shell of my left ear. He nipped gently down along my neck, moving to dip his tongue into the triangle where my collarbones met and I tilted my head back to allow him better access.

“Talk me down from what?” 

He chuckled and gently kissed at my bottom lip, pulling away before I could respond.

“From that spectacular orgasm that you didn’t just have,” he stated, as though this were the most obvious thing in the world. 

“Why the fuck would you want to do that?” 

Malfoy’s mouth was continuing to nip and suck along my neck and both our cocks were filling out again, bumping against each other occasionally, making it difficult to concentrate. 

“Because,” he nipped at my mouth again, “it’s better the second time around.” 

He drew back, and I tried to follow him, nearly toppling over in the process. Malfoy laughed as he caught me, saving me from falling face-first onto the floor, or maybe the couch, or wherever I’d been headed.

“Careful, kitten,” he admonished, righting me, and slipping the blindfold up so that it pulled my fringe back like a headband. 

I blinked up at him, the room seeming entirely too bright after having been blind for… well, however long we’d been here. 

“Hey,” he said softly, grey-blue eyes gazing down at me as his hands caressed up and down my back, tracing abstract patterns. 

“Hi,” I murmured back, still staring up at him as one of his hands slid down to rest at the base of my spine, lodged just beneath my still-bound hands, the other stroking upwards to hold the nape of my neck, both drawing me closer. 

I closed my eyes, for some reason, anticipating this kiss, perhaps, more than anything I’d ever wanted from Malfoy before. 

His lips brushed mine, gently, almost reverently, and I sighed happily, mouth opening to allow him to slide his tongue inside, retreating almost instantly, causing me to chase after him, grabbing at his lower lip with my teeth, gently, soothing it with my tongue. 

Apparently, every goddamned thing Malfoy and I did together was going to be based in taunting. 

Malfoy groaned and plunged his tongue back into my mouth, swirling it around my own and I responded eagerly, pressing my body up against his, grinding my cock into his hip, relishing in the feel of his sliding against my flank, both of us begging for more.

The kiss continued, building, both of us groaning and licking into the other’s mouth, and I thought dazedly, at the back of my mind, that, yes, Malfoy had quite the talented goddamned mouth and that he was, clearly, quite fond of kissing. 

Gradually, we separated, lips still returning to meet sporadically, giving little nips and contented sighs, and I remembered our conversation. 

“What do you mean, better the second time around?” 

“You know,” he grinned, “edging.” His smile faltered at the look on my face. 

“You do know what edging is, don’t you?” 

I shook my head, already sure I didn’t like this edging business.

“You know, where you stop your orgasm from hitting right at _that_ moment, then you let yourself come completely down, then build it up again,” he continued, as though this horrific-sounding explanation might ring a bell.

“Why the _fuck_ would you want to do that?” 

Malfoy glanced off to his right side before returning his gaze to me and smiling sheepishly.

“… because it’s better the second time around?” he offered again. 

Then, smiling to himself indulgently. 

“Or, sometimes, even the third, or fourth, or fifth,” he admitted. I gawped at him.

“You would want to do _that_ to… to… _me_?” I sputtered, outraged. “Four or five _times?!”_

The gaze Malfoy slanted down at me just then was pure lust. 

“Oh, Harry,” he sighed. “If only you could see the way you look when I do it. You’d do it a _hundred_ times,” he promised. 

I could only continue to stare.

“You’re evil,” I stated. 

Malfoy shook his head, arms reaching out to grab me and pull me towards him again.

“No, I’m not,” he countered. “I just want you to have the most incredible orgasm of your entire life. Every. Single. Time.” He paused between each word to press a gentle kiss against my mouth, ignoring my attempts to deepen the kiss each time, because, well. As already established, he was an evil prick bent on killing me through sex. 

“It had better be, Malfoy,” I warned him, glaring. 

He merely chuckled and leaned in to give me the briefest of kisses before nuzzling down my neck then whispering in my ear.

“Oh, don’t worry, kitten, I always deliver.” 

He stood again, prick level with my mouth, and tugged the blindfold back down over my eyes. 

“Come, now, Potter,” he encouraged, sliding the tip of his cock along the crease of my mouth and I opened immediately, taking in as much as he’d give me. 

The dildo in my arse began to mimic his motions, driving only about halfway in, maddeningly slow. 

So, the fucking bastard was serious. 

We were starting at the beginning. 

***

It was a good forty or so minutes later before I found myself gasping, recovering from what, as promised, had been the most earth-shattering orgasm of my entire life, clinging to Draco Fucking Malfoy as we both lay collapsed on the couch, panting for breath, sticky with sweat and semen, limbs entangled, hands running constant paths up, down, and around each other’s bodies. 

Fuck me. Edging, hmm? 

It was Malfoy who moved first, raising a hand to clean the mess from us, the dildo slipping from my arse to thump onto the floor.

Oh. Had that still been up there? 

Malfoy continued his ministrations, manipulating and arranging us so that I was stretched out atop him, his hands gently tracing up and down my back, smoothing down my arse occasionally, before trailing back up again.

“Well,” he grinned down at me as I nuzzled his neck, “I think it’s safe to say I’ve converted you to the world of edging.” 

“Nnnggh,” I groaned, stretching to release my muscles, causing myself to grind down into Malfoy in the process. 

“I don’t think I can handle that every time,” I admitted, honestly. 

Malfoy’s grin was positively sinful. 

“Oh, Potter,” he sighed, looking as though I’d just announced Christmas was coming early, “Don’t _tell_ me that….” 

I made another unintelligible sound and returned my face into his neck, breathing in the scent of cedar and liquorice, the barest hint of roses. I buried my nose deeper into Malfoy, inhaling, and caught further notes of dusky amber and sandalwood. 

Fuck, he smelled delicious.

“Why do you smell so good?” I wondered aloud.

He gave a half-hearted chuckle, hands still trailing up and down my body, his nose inhaling my hair and the curve of my neck before pressing a sweet kiss to my temple.

“It’s called proper grooming products, Potter,” he drawled. “You should try them sometime.” 

“I dunno,” I countered lazily, as Malfoy inhaled deeply into my hair once more, “You seem to be enjoying whatever it is I’m using.” 

“Well, then, could you imagine if you used proper products?” 

I “hmmed” and burrowed myself closer to Malfoy, if that were even possible, and closed my eyes, hoping his hands would continue their path and lull me into sleep. 

Unfortunately, Malfoy had different ideas. 

He sat up suddenly, arms steadying me to keep me from toppling from his lap, and stood us both upright.

“We need a bath,” he declared, turning, grasping my hand in his own, and all but dragging me towards the hallway opposite his front door that I’d noted earlier. 

There was a door on the left that clearly led to a guest shower room, and another door on the right, at the far end of the hallway which was closed. Perhaps an office or guest bedroom.

Malfoy led me to the door straight ahead, at the end of the hallway, and I had my first glance around his bedroom. 

It was cosy yet elegant, and modern, like the rest of his place, with large windows, that would, presumably, stream in sunlight during the day. 

His bed was placed centre of the room, against the wall to our left, covered in a mountain of fluffy pillows and a dark blue duvet; I could see a small en-suite leading from the wall adjacent. 

It was spacious enough, mind. But I could see that, while the rainforest-type showers Malfoy seemed to enjoy so much was present, there was clearly no bathtub. 

I looked at him questioningly and he grinned, and I had to roll my eyes.

Of course. It was charmed. 

Malfoy gave a sweep of his hand and the bathroom nearly quadrupled in size, giving way to a positively spa-like room that would have rivalled the Prefect’s bathroom at Hogwarts. 

Except, of course, that this one was tailored to Malfoy’s personal style. 

The floor was made of white marble streaked through with wide, marbled stripes of golden and coppery tones, the walls covered with the same gorgeous stone. 

Normally, I found marble to be a bit ostentatious, but this combination, strewn with warm colours, seemed almost homey. 

There was a giant sunken tub, complete with jets, on the left side of the room, set before two giant floor-to-ceiling windows that had been bewitched to show rolling emerald hills dotted with farmhouses beneath azure-coloured skies, puffy white clouds drifting lazily along. 

An inviting rainforest shower occupied the other corner, set before another pair of windows showcasing the same bucolic scene, with two giant rain-shower heads hanging from the ceiling and an additional two hand-held shower wands hanging from the walls. 

The room was so large, there was no glass encasing the shower, and I noted the floor at that corner of the room was angled towards a drain set between the two showerheads.

On my right was a large vanity with two large sinks, the one on the left which had a small cluster of toiletries, claiming it as “Malfoy’s” side. 

A mirror covered the entire wall, and I caught my reflection, looking exactly like I’d just been properly shagged.

This mirror chuckled and teased me:

“Had yourself a good time, hmm, gorgeous?” 

Malfoy laughed and pulled me close, giving me another quick kiss.

“See, even my _mirrors_ like to taunt you,” he sighed, kissing me again. “You’re just so delectable.” 

I slid my tongue into his mouth, deepening the kiss, groaning as Malfoy responded, both our cocks twitching despite recent orgasms. 

I couldn’t tell you how long we stood there, hands roaming, tongues seeking, and I briefly wondered if my new favourite activity should be kissing Malfoy. 

He pulled back slightly, then began to tease, capturing first my bottom lip, then my top lip gently between his own, sucking gently, but not quite enough, alternating back and forth. Just tasting, teasing, tempting, and I whimpered. 

He groaned, licking back into my mouth, and I groaned back, tongue battling with his for dominance. 

As if there were any doubt who’d end up where. 

Malfoy stepped one foot between my own, forcing me to rock back onto my heels, one strong arm sliding around my waist, the other stroking up to cradle the back of my head so that I was completely supported by Malfoy. 

I felt weightless, like I was floating, then realised he must’ve cast some sort of spell to help support me, and I moaned again as Malfoy continued to kiss me, thoroughly mapping every crevice of my mouth, tongue swirling, retreating, and entering with a skill that left me breathless. 

Yep, he’d definitely used some spell to counter my weight, I decided, as he angled me towards the vanity and began walking me over, my body all but floating, heels barely skimming along the ground, supported by Malfoy’s arms and hands as they roamed my back, tangled themselves in my hair, reached down to pluck and twist at a nipple. 

My arse hit the edge of the vanity and Malfoy hoisted me up on it, wrapping my legs around him, pressing even closer, without even skipping a lap or thrust of that talented tongue into my mouth. 

We were both moaning uncontrollably, as though this kiss had tumbled the final barrier holding back our restraint, and I couldn’t have told you how much or how little time had passed when Malfoy finally tore his mouth from mine and swore.

“ _Fuck,_ Potter,” he rasped, eyes squeezed shut above me, hands clenched on the vanity either side of my hips. He seemed to be battling something internally and stormy blue-grey eyes opened to flash angrily down at me. My own hands, which had been tangling happily in his own locks, slowed hesitantly. 

“The fuck are you doing to me?” he whispered, almost to himself, mouth fastening to mine once more for a slow, thorough, somehow indecent kiss that had me scrabbling up against him, legs twining even more tightly around him, begging, needing, demanding, _more_. 

Malfoy’s hands were everywhere, one running up my side to twist in my hair and attempt to press my face even closer to his, the other caressing down my hip, following the curve of my arse, trailing down my leg wrapped tightly around him, pulling me even closer, me grinding my hips up into him just as frantically as he was grinding down, our cocks slipping and sliding together, only adding to our groans. 

Malfoy began to kiss and suck a trail down my neck, nipping and sucking, leaving who knows how many bruises and marks in his wake, and I just moaned, pressing his face further into my neck, encouraging him. 

Because, fuck, yes, I _wanted_ him to mark me. 

He licked that hyper-sensitive dip at the middle of my collarbone, then moved to capture one rosy nipple in his mouth, biting and sucking, before soothing with his tongue. 

Long, nimble fingers reached to toy with the other until I was positively melting into a boneless wreck beneath him, head thrown back, and long, shameless moans falling from my mouth to encourage him. 

Because if he stopped now, I would surely fucking die. 

He straightened and licked another kiss into my mouth, pulling away slightly when I responded eagerly.

“Harry,” he murmured, kissing me again. 

“Mmm.” It was the only answer I could manage. 

“Get in the tub,” he instructed. 

“No!" 

I all but began crying. He was _not_ fucking doing this edging bullshit to me again right now.

Malfoy must have understood my broken plea because he smiled down at me, eyes searching mine, and he leaned in to give me a quick, chaste kiss. 

“Don’t worry, kitten,” he soothed, kissing me again briefly, “I’ve no intention of teasing you right now,” he promised. 

I nearly died from the relief that flooded through me. 

And, well, wouldn’t _that_ have been a shame? 

I pulled Malfoy’s head back down, demanding still more from his mouth, and he obliged, working us back up to that same intensity where we’d just been.

Where I was pressed up against him tightly as could be, could feel that he was pressing back down into me with the same urgency, and _still,_ we needed to be closer. 

I was moaning uncontrollably now, and Malfoy began giving me sweet, almost tender open-mouthed kisses timed with each moan, as though he were drinking them down, licking gently, just barely, into my mouth each time. 

It drove me absolutely mad, and I could only moan _more_ in response, mouth working desperately, trying to follow his maddeningly retreating one each time.

Merlin, I was wrecked. 

“ _Draco,_ ” his name tore from my throat, anguished, not even sure what I was begging for, just knowing that I _needed_ him to give it to me, and _now._

Draco practically growled into my mouth, abandoning the infuriatingly tender kisses he’d been lapping into me, and began kissing me properly. _Finally._

We were pressed so closely together now, I doubt anyone could have slid anything between us, no matter how slim, both of us sliding our hands through the other’s hair, pressing the other’s face closer. 

Our mouths fastened onto each other, not even bothering to separate, lips and tongues darting in and out, swirling together, teeth clashing from time to time, swallowing each other’s moans because who fucking cared about _breathing_ or pulling _away_ for even _one_ _second_ when Draco Fucking Malfoy was kissing me as though his life depended on it. 

I felt that weightless feeling wash over me again, and next second, Draco had scooped me up in his arms, my legs still wrapped tightly around his waist, mouths still connected as though we were each other’s lifeline. 

I was only aware of Draco’s mouth plundering mine, my own greedily taking everything he would give me, and _where_ Draco was carrying me certainly didn’t matter. 

I felt him take a step down, mouth still attached to mine, both refusing to be the first to break this kiss. 

Another step, then another, and I felt myself being lowered into a warm bath, and I sighed contentedly into Draco’s mouth as he sat himself in the tub, arranging me on his lap so that I was still wrapped tightly around him, our tongues still tangling together, slowing now, the bath already soothing and calming our frantic actions. 

I could smell the fragrance in the bathwater, that same delicious smell that was Malfoy. Woodsy, sultry, with just the slightest hint of delicate rose.

Alluring, intriguing, and devastatingly addictive. Just like the man, himself. 

I rose, licking slowly into Draco’s mouth, allowing his cock to slip between my cheeks, groaning when the head caught slightly on my slackened rim as I slid back down to settle in his lap again. 

The kiss continued, slowing, even more, Draco rocking his hips up into me, sliding that luscious cock along my channel, and finally, we separated, though our mouths continued to come together, tongues still tangling, hands still exploring, as though all time had stopped and there was only this. 

Only us. 

It could have been minutes, hours, possibly days when Draco finally pulled away.

“Harry,” he murmured, looking up at me, dazed, and I, again, found myself staring at the patterns of blue, green, and grey in his eyes. 

“Mmmh, Draco,” I sighed, capturing his mouth once more. This kissing didn’t need to stop, far as I was concerned. 

His hands fumbled beneath me for a second, searching, then his fingers entered me, first one, then two, Draco, for once, seeming just as eager and urgent as me. 

Of course, that did nothing for that languid, lazy bout of kissing we’d just been engaged in. 

Soon, we were both frantic again, mouths attacking, Draco’s fingers stretching, me demanding. 

“Draco,” I gasped. 

He needed no further encouragement, lifting my hips above his eager prick. 

I grabbed it with one hand, guiding it into me, sighing, as always, when it pushed just inside me. 

_Fuck_ , would that ever _not_ be incredible?

That first push in, that slight burn that _demands_ you keep going, needing that stretch, that fullness? 

Merlin, maybe I _was_ a giant cock-slut. 

I continued to slide down Draco’s length, letting my weight carry me down, staring down at Draco and nearly stopping and gasping at what I saw. 

His head was thrown back, eyes closed, biting at his bottom lip, absolute bliss etched across his face, and in that instant I understood. 

Understood why he teased me and pushed me because _fuck_ he looked beautiful, and had I not been so needy, already halfway down the world’s most incredible cock, I would definitely have pulled off. 

Just to see those eyes snap open in realisation, the brief moment of panic, the startled gasp.

Hear the moan tearing from his throat, those long, slender fingers scrabbling at my hips to try to set me back on his cock where I fucking belonged. 

Filing that brief fantasy away for future use, I continued to seat myself on Draco, leaning in for another kiss. 

Draco groaned into my mouth as I settled on his lap, hands wandering up my back, through my hair again, and I allowed myself a few moments to enjoy the sweetness of his mouth before dragging myself up his length, squeezing and twisting my hips wickedly at his head as I lifted myself completely off of him. 

Draco’s eyes snapped shut, and he stifled a moan, hips thrusting up, trying to catch me. 

I lowered myself onto him again, my hole opening easily around him thanks to the solid fucking that dildo had given me earlier. 

That was the nice thing about a second dicking. You didn’t, necessarily, have to waste your time going slow and could get to the actual fucking immediately. 

I barely gave Draco a second to enjoy being sheathed inside of me before I was rising up again, then down, over and over, squeezing and rocking, trying to catch that spot, eyes rolling back in my head when he finally brushed against it. 

I rode him, hard and fast, his hands still exploring my back, my chest, everywhere, his hips snapping up to meet mine, moans spilling from both of our mouths, our motions becoming almost frantic. 

Well, shit. This wasn’t going to last long. 

Draco reached down to wrap his hand around my cock, jerking me off in time, and all too soon, I heard him cry out. Felt him shooting up inside of me, eyes squeezing shut, hand still working my cock until I, too, shot over that edge, collapsing onto him, biting at the juncture of his neck and shoulder, marking him with an absolutely feral growl. 

“Fuck, Harry,” he mumbled, and I turned to capture his mouth in a brief kiss. 

Fuck me, indeed. What the fuck had just happened?

I clambered off of Draco’s lap, watching him cautiously. 

When had we become Harry and Draco? I wondered, still watching him. 

His eyes were still closed, a blissed-out smile on his face, a faint post-orgasmic blush colouring his cheeks, and he looked, oddly enough, positively _angelic_. 

Those grey-blue eyes slid open, and he grinned lazily at me. 

“Well, goddamn, Potter,” he drawled, that angelic look all but disappearing, the softness in those eyes being replaced with the trademark Malfoy indifference, “perhaps I should let you take control sometimes.” 

He rose gracefully from the bath and sauntered over to the showers, turning the tap on the left on. The left side was clearly Malfoy’s, I noted, not sure why that made me smile. 

Malfoy’s back remained to me as he massaged shampoo into his shining locks, working it into a lather. 

“You can have a shower if you’d like, or magic yourself clean if you’d prefer, but you should probably get out of the tub,” he advised, still working the lather into his scalp. 

Oh. 

He wanted me gone. 

I waved a hand to clean myself up and stumbled out of the tub, noting that the water had already begun to drain. 

“Right, erm,” I hesitated. 

“Potter,” came his reply, soft but sharp. 

“Hmm?” 

“Don’t be a Gryffindor,” he reminded me, turning to face me, eyes closed as he leaned back to rinse his hair. 

“Right. Next time, then,” I said, hoping my voice came out sounding, well, un-Gryffindor-like, I guess. 

“Mmm,” came Malfoy’s non-committal reply, still standing beneath the cascade of water. 

I didn’t need to wait another second. 

Without another glance at Malfoy, I apparated back home, the usual delirious high following not one, but two, sensational orgasms, not quite as euphoric as it should have been. 


	6. Bewitched

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco is regretting how he ended his last encounter with Harry. 
> 
> What happens when our two boys meet up again?
> 
> Again, I suck at summaries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long, everyone! I had a lot of trouble with the beginning of this chapter, for some reason. I knew where I wanted it to go and how I wanted it to end, but getting it started and "sounding" right just wasn't happening at first. 
> 
> As always, comments are greatly appreciated.

_Saturday Evening_

25 _July 2009_

_Draco's POV_

Nope. 

Nope. 

Nope.

Swipe left. 

Left.

Left. 

Fuck me, this was bad. 

I hurled my phone across the reception, watching it shatter as it connected with the wall behind the dining table. 

I growled, pointing my wand at the pieces, cast a quick Reparo, and watched the pieces zoom together back into my outstretched hand just so that I could have the satisfaction of flinging it back at the wall again. 

Three more times I threw the goddamned phone and repaired it, and three more times I was still less than satisfied. 

Fuck. 

An hour, at least, I’d spent on Grindr, swiping fucking left because they were all awful and unappealing and not. Fucking. Right. 

It had been like this the past couple of weeks. 

Since I’d been naïve enough to agree to see Potter again. 

Since I’d been asinine enough to _kiss_ the sodding bastard. 

Since I’d let my guard down and so had he. 

And it had been incredible. 

Beautiful. 

_He’d_ been beautiful. 

That lithe body of his pressed tightly up to mine, long legs wrapped around me, almost bruising as he clung to me.

And the kissing. 

Merciful Merlin, the _kissing._

Potter’s mouth was absolute heaven. Sweet and hot and pliant. Greedy, demanding more, just like all of him did. 

I’d been drowning in him, needing more of him, craving him like the sweetest drug. 

And then he’d said my _name._

All but sobbed it out. Like a plea. A prayer. 

And I’d been utterly lost. 

I would have given Harry absolutely anything he’d wanted at that moment. 

And then I’d behaved like a complete arse and shoved him away. 

I hadn’t even had to look at him to see the hurt and questioning in those eyes. The ones that showed everything he was thinking and feeling. 

So here I was, two weeks later, frustrated and angry with myself, completely disinterested in any of the blokes on Grindr, or in the clubs, or at the pub, or anywhere. 

The obvious solution was to message Potter. 

But I was Draco Fucking Malfoy, and when had I ever taken the obvious solution? 

What would I even say to him?

“Hey, sorry I was such an arse last time. I got scared ‘cause I’ve had a massive crush on you since fourth-year and I panicked so I retreated behind my arsehole façade just in case you decided to hurt me….”

I snorted. Yeah. That’d go over well. 

Just for fun, I yanked one of the table lamps from its cord and heaved it across the reception, anticipating the crash as it connected with the wall. 

But it never came. 

I was hallucinating. Had to be.

 _Harry_ was standing in my reception, right hand holding the lamp, having caught it right after apparating (into _my fucking flat_ , I might add) with his ridiculous Seeker skills. Bastard.

“Did you know I was coming, Malfoy?” he asked, snickering. “I figured you were gonna be upset to see me, but honestly….” 

I’d forgotten to reset my wards. 

“Just letting off some steam, Potter,” I managed. “May I help you?” 

He smirked, releasing the lamp and sending it back over to the end table nearest me. 

“Thought you’d never ask,” he admitted, walking towards me, and I decided that Potter smirking was a decidedly dangerous thing. 

He was sloshed, I realised, as he came to a halt in front of me, loopy grin in place, eyes just a shade too bright.

Well, maybe not quite, but a tad past tipsy, at least. 

“Want your cock, Malfoy,” he sighed, sinking to his knees before me, hands coming to rest on my knees, spreading them slightly apart. 

Well, shit. 

“‘S so _good_ ,” he went on, hands sliding up my thighs, green eyes flickering shut. 

“No one else gives me cock the way you do,” he added, leaning forward to press his cheek to my thigh, eyes opening to gaze up at me before turning his head to give my inner thigh a nibble. 

“No?” I managed, staring down at the sight below me. 

“Mm-mm,” he shook his head, setting a hand on each of my thighs and pushing himself up to look me in the eye. 

“None of them _tease_ me,” he informed me, frowning petulantly, reaching to unbutton my shirt. “Just give me what I want when I _say_ I want it,” he added, as though this were an egregious crime. 

His hands moved down to begin unfastening my trousers, and I found my nerve, and, more importantly, my voice. 

I reached forward with my left hand to caress his cheek, and his eyes fluttered shut as he leaned into the caress. 

“Aww, kitten,” I purred. “You’re _kidding_ me.” 

“No,” he answered, shaking his head emphatically. “They _do_ ,” he insisted, hands tugging at my waistband now that my trousers were undone. 

I raised my hips so that he could slip them down, not even caring that my cock was already hard. 

“Mmmm,” he sighed, leaning forward to lap at the tip. 

“What do you think you’re doing, Potter?” I demanded, gripping the hair on the back of his head and pulling him away. Torturous as that was. 

My Harry needed to be toyed with, apparently. 

And I was going to give him exactly what he wanted. 

“I,” he gasped, staring up at me while biting that insufferable lip of his. “I,” he said again, gaze sliding down to take in the length of me. 

“Please?” It wasn’t really a question. A sigh. Pure, undisguised longing. And who was I to deny that? 

I released my hand, carding my hand through that ridiculous silken mop, trailing my fingers along his cheek, then that sweet mouth, before pulling away entirely. 

“Go ahead, Harry,” I murmured, watching him. 

He sighed happily and leaned forward, tongue reaching out to lap at my slit. 

And again while his hands kneaded my thighs absently. 

A third little lap, then he swirled that wicked tongue around the head, gazed up at me briefly with an absolutely wicked smirk, and sucked me down in one go. 

Fuck me, Circe, he did that on fucking purpose. 

He was abso _lutely_ paying me back for the last time. 

Harry continued to slide that sinful mouth of his up and down my shaft, tongue somehow managing to lick, and swirl, and press into me all the while, and I let myself relax to enjoy Harry’s ministrations. 

I realised I’d never actually allowed Harry to suck me off as he pleased, usually stopping him so that I could fuck that pretty mouth of his. 

That’d clearly been a mistake. 

Harry was goddamned wonderful. Not that I was surprised. 

Still, I don’t think I’d realised just how much he enjoyed sucking cock until now. 

He gave himself to it wholeheartedly, that sweet mouth of his sucking me down, swallowing as though _he_ were the one enjoying it, groaning in pleasure, before sliding up to lap or swirl his tongue at the head, sometimes giving it a brief suck. 

He traced one hand up to fondle my balls gently, still sliding that incredible mouth of his up and down, looking, for all the world, like this was his absolute happy place. 

Harry slurped up my cock one last time before clambering into my lap, leaning in to place a brief kiss on my lips then pulled away, tearing off his t-shirt and flinging it across the room. 

“I ought to thank you,” he murmured, leaning back in to whisper in my ear. 

“Oh?” I managed, hips rising to meet him as he ground his arse down into me. 

“Mmm,” he agreed, flinging his head back, eyes shut, a blissful smile on his face as he continued to grind shamelessly against me. 

“Why is that?” 

I couldn’t keep my hands off him, needed to touch every inch of skin available to me. 

I pressed a kiss to the side of his neck, swirled my tongue over that bony point where collarbone meets shoulder, bent him back so I could swipe first at one nipple then the other. 

Harry, all the while, kept moaning and circling his hips in my lap, leaning back, trusting me to hold him so that he could continue to grind down into my lap while pushing up into my teasing tongue. 

“Edging,” he managed to gasp out, and I just about dropped him. 

“What?”

I slowly brought him back up to sit on my lap, not trusting myself to hold on to him at the moment. 

“I’ve done it _twice_ tonight,” he informed me, emerald eyes sparkling down at me and I had to close my eyes and take a deep breath before looking back up at him. 

Fuck me. 

Potter wasn’t sloshed. 

He was fucking _sex_ -wrecked. 

And now he was here, grinding into my lap, staring down at me with lust-blown eyes, looking for all the world like he just needed my cock in him now, please. 

Merlin fucking help me. 

Potter leaned down and captured my lower lip between his teeth, soothing it with his tongue, before trailing kisses up my neck and moving to whisper in my ear.

“Want me to show you?” 

I groaned as his mouth found mine, nipping at my bottom lip, tongue sliding in just to dart away again. 

Next moment, Harry had all but leapt from my lap, then had turned to look down at me expectantly before striding off towards my bedroom.

Naturally, I followed, watching that gorgeous, denim-clad arse as I went. 

Show me, indeed. 

Potter shucked his jeans and waved a hand at my bed, ridding it of the extraneous pillows and duvet, before flopping onto his back. 

He stared up at me, green eyes darkening as he began to trail one hand gently down his chest, the other twining up to caress his neck and twist in the unruly hair at the nape of his neck. 

I watched, mesmerised, as he plucked at his left nipple, back arching off the bed, a quiet moan escaping his mouth, while his other hand reached down, fingertips barely touching his cock, trailing up and down lightly. 

“Need a hand, Potter?” I asked, palming my own cock through my trousers. 

He shook his head, still continuing his ministrations.

“No, ‘s ok,” he sighed, “M good…”

He continued to stroke lightly at his prick, still not quite even grasping it, just lightly trailing the tips of his fingers along the vein, teasing, his knees falling open, and I was thoroughly upset that he’d turned down my offer for help. 

“Is this what you did to yourself the last two times, Potter?” 

He smiled faintly, eyes slipping shut, hands still moving, and he shook his head. 

No? 

“It’s what I did the first time,” he conceded breathlessly. 

I nodded, nevermind the fact that he couldn’t even see me. 

His eyes snapped open then, pupils so dilated they were nearly black. 

“I touched myself, like this,” he murmured, hands ghosting over his body, twisting a nipple, smoothing down over his abs, gliding down the crevices of his hips, but not touching his cock directly. 

“I pretended it was you,” he went on, eyes locked on mine as he continued to run his fingers along his torso, fingers pausing occasionally to pluck at a nipple, to reach back up into his thick mane of hair to pull, brushing down to stroke his thighs, caressing his balls, all the while avoiding his cock, standing stiff and red, begging for attention. 

“I had to keep slowing down… tease myself,” he sighed, “because I _knew_ you wouldn’t give it to me straight away…” 

“Give you what, Harry?” I asked, pulling my cock from the painful confines of my trousers to stroke myself, watching the brilliant show before me. 

“Anything,” he responded. “Everything.” 

I continued to watch as he teased himself, eyes following his every move. 

I’d barely even realised I’d moved, but next moment, I was straddling him, leaning in close to capture those perfect lips with my own, hands running down his sides, grasping his own, and tugging them gently above his head. 

I licked into his mouth, then moved to nip along his jawline, his neck, sucking and biting to mark him again, his moans and thrusts upwards only encouraging me. 

“Draco,” he moaned.

I made a noise in the back of my throat at hearing my name and moved lower to lick and suck at his nipples, releasing his hands so they could tangle themselves in my hair. 

“Please,” he sighed, body rolling beneath mine, seeking more. 

I ignored him and continued to kiss and lick my way down his torso, stopping to lap slowly at his hipbones, sucking, licking, and biting until Harry’s hips were rising off the mattress in protest. 

“Draco, _please,”_ he groaned, hands tangling in my hair, trying to yank me back up. 

I practically growled and surprised him by binding his hands to the headboard so that I could move on without him distracting me, continuing my trail downwards, avoiding his now-leaking cock, trailing my hands down the insides of his thighs, moving to push them apart, meeting some resistance. 

I paused and lifted my head to look at him questioningly. 

We’d done so much already; I couldn’t imagine him hesitating now. 

“Harry?” I asked, rising back up to kiss him briefly, still not undoing his hands, knowing he’d already have been free if he'd really wanted to be. 

Those fucking eyes of his blinked open, looking at me almost shyly and Harry nuzzled his cheek into my hand as it caressed his face.

His dark lashes were wet, he’d been so desperate, and I leaned in to brush each eyelid with my lips, tasting the saltiness of those unshed tears. 

“Harry?” I questioned again, and he sighed quietly, lifting his lips to my own, pressing soft, little kitten kisses to my mouth. 

I tentatively reached my left hand down to brush against his right thigh again and he groaned, kitten kisses gone, his tongue thrusting back into my mouth again. 

I took this as a sign to keep going and gently pushed his leg to the side, running my fingers up to brush against his opening, anticipating the heat and velvet of it, instead only meeting the smooth rubber of a dildo, the end pushed all the way in so that the base was flush with his arse. 

_Fuck._

My only response was to half-groan, half-sob into his mouth, because, _fuck_ , what else was I supposed to do? 

“I,” Harry mumbled, trying to talk and kiss at the same time. “I…” 

“Merlin, Harry,” I sighed, tearing my mouth away from his to stare at him in disbelief. 

“I told you I did it twice,” he gasped, jerking up towards me against his bonds, legs wrapping themselves around my hips to draw me closer, our cocks rubbing together, eliciting a groan from both of us. 

“Did what…” I began, then remembered his cheeky smile and sultry confession from earlier. 

Edging. 

Holy fuck. 

And he’d accused _me_ of trying to kill _him_ with sex? 

“Harry,” I sighed, leaning in to capture his mouth once more, because how could I _not_ snog him senseless right now? 

“Mmm,” he replied, tongue tangling lazily with mine as my hands continued to roam across his chest and smooth down around his legs, still wrapped around me.

Next thing I knew, his hands were tangled in my hair and trailing across my back, Harry having decided he’d had enough of being tied up, I suppose. 

“Mmrph!” I protested as Harry flipped me onto my back and I found my own hands bound above me, stuck to the headboard as though bound with iron. 

I pulled and felt out with my own magic, but the bonds remained taut, and I stared up at Harry, honestly, just a bit apprehensive. 

“Sorry,” he amended quickly, seeing my face, and I felt the bonds loosen slightly. 

I tested them again and felt them give way when I urged and, satisfied, settled back, allowing my arms to remain tethered above my head. 

Harry smirked, then, and began his own torturous trail down my torso, tongue darting out to tease at my nipples, to trace along that scar running across my chest, to dip into my bellybutton, eliciting a most un-Malfoy-like giggle, which, of course, had the arsehole returning for more. 

The giggles, however, quickly gave way to moans as Harry continued to kiss his way down, first nibbling along one hipbone and down along my groin, purposely avoiding my cock, which, of course, jerked in his direction, as though begging for attention. 

Harry ignored it and continued to lick and nibble down the inside of my right thigh, before moving to lap at my bollocks, taking first one, then the other gently into his mouth, then repeating. Licking, sucking, tongue swirling, driving me absolutely mad. 

_Finally_ , he licked a long, slow path up my cock, stopping every once in a while to suck and gather the pre-cum that was dripping down the shaft, eyes sliding shut, a throaty moan adding to the sensation. 

When Harry reached the tip of my cock, he swirled his tongue around the head, pulling the sensitive tip into his mouth and sucked _just_ this side of too much, before pulling off completely. He stared up at me briefly before swirling his tongue around the head, sucking me down, slowly, oh, so mother-fucking slowly, down, down, all the way down, throat working like a fucking python. 

Parseltongue in-fucking-deed. 

I barely had the mental capacity to wonder if the two were related before Harry was working his mouth up and down my length, swallowing me greedily, slurping and drooling with each pass up and down my prick, groaning and moaning as though _he_ was the one in the throes of ecstasy. 

Then again, knowing my Harry, I suppose he was. 

Harry slowed suddenly, eyes locking with mine, as he began to swallow my cock again at an agonisingly slow pace, and I definitely _did_ _not_ strain against my invisible bonds, trying to drive deeper into the wet heat of his mouth. 

“Harry,” I begged, but he didn’t listen. 

Just kept sucking, slowly, as though he had all the time in the world to savour my cock, throat working relentlessly to devour me, working me into a whimpering, again, most un-Malfoy-like, mess and I had the briefest glimmer of hope that Potter didn’t have a goddamned Pensieve to save any of this shit for future blackmail. 

“Say the spell,” he gasped, slurping off of my cock for half a second.

Spell? My lust-addled brain had no idea what he was asking for. 

“Spell?” I managed, as his mouth swallowed me again. 

Harry worked my cock for a few moments before pulling off, not quite meeting my eyes.

“Yeah,” he said quietly, sucking hungrily at the tip of my cock. 

“I’m… I’m sorry, Harry,” I just barely managed. “I don’t know...” 

“You know,” he encouraged, still lapping at my cock, eyes locking on mine as he raised himself on to all fours so that his arse was up in the air, his head leaning down to suck me in, and _gods,_ wasn’t he a pretty sight? 

I’m not sure how long I got lost there, watching Harry’s beautiful mouth work my cock, but it must have been, well, a while, because he popped off suddenly, rolling his eyes, clearly exasperated, as he rose to kneel between my thighs. 

“Merlin, Malfoy,” he sighed, eyes snapping shut. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“I…” it was all I could manage, honestly. 

“The spell,” he all but ground out, eyes still closed. 

Suddenly, bottle-green eyes were staring down at me with an intensity that made my breath catch. 

“You know, Malfoy,” he snapped, those eyes flashing. “The one spell I might maybe need you to help out with when I’ve had a fucking dildo up my arse all night and no idea how to make it work on its own,” he finished, chest heaving slightly. 

Kitten had worked himself up to quite a tirade, I managed to note. 

“My wrist can only bend at an angle for so long, arsehole,” he added, a slight blush rising in his cheeks. 

I could only stare up at him, mouth gaping, I’m sure. 

I’m not even sure I _could’ve_ breathed properly at that moment, the mental image of Potter working that dildo in and out of his arse manually because he didn’t know the spell to have it fuck him proper? 

Sweet Merlin, how was I supposed to process this. 

“You… y-y-you…” I stammered. 

Fucking brilliant, Draco. _Superbly_ eloquent, you fucking idiot. 

Harry’s eyes snapped down to me, realisation dawning in them. 

Oh fuck. 

He hadn’t even realised. The innocent little fuckwad. 

I was done for now, my own realisation settling in as Potter smirked down at me knowingly. 

“Oh, I _did_ ,” he purred, settling himself back onto my lap, hand stroking down my torso, knowing goddamned well I couldn’t do anything about it. 

“I did _so good_ ,” he added, eyes fluttering shut as he grazed his arse lightly along my prick. 

“Fuck you, Potter,” I ground out, relishing in the feel of his arse grinding slowly into me, knowing the dildo in his arse was pulsing slightly deeper inside of him as he did so. 

“I twisted it in and out of my sweet, little, _pink_ , pucker so slowly even _you_ would've told me to hurry up,” he added, winking as he said the word pink because he was a bloody wanker. 

“The way you like to fuck me,” he added, eyes holding mine as he all but slithered his way back down my body. 

“The way you like to _tease_ me,” he added, daintily licking at my cock, “until I’m a shameless, incoherent mess.”

Potter continued to lick and tease, pulling away whenever I tried to follow that stupid mouth of his. 

“I wonder, Malfoy,” he sighed, pulling away completely to sit on his heels, eyes watching me carefully. “I wonder what it would take to render you the same?” 

He gasped suddenly as the dildo began to work itself slowly in and out of his arse, and I managed to smirk up at him even whilst watching the thick, black length of it rising and falling between his legs, knowing it was working itself in and out of that sweet, fucking _pink_ arse of his. 

“You’re welcome, Potter,” I said, sincerely as could be, as Harry’s eyes slid closed, a groan escaping his lips as he rolled his head slowly in a circle, as though releasing the tension he’d been carrying all night, wanting that dildo to fuck him properly. 

Moaning, Harry leaned forward and slipped my prick back into his mouth, sliding down, still on all fours, arching his back as the dildo continued to fuck him, and _Merlin,_ if I didn’t wish there was a mirror _,_ stood just behind him, so I could watch. 

“Merlin, Potter,” I managed to gasp out. “Every time I think I’ve finally worked out what a colossal cock-slut you are, you manage to surprise me.” 

He didn’t respond. Merely kept working my cock as the dildo worked him. 

“How many times have you wanked yourself raw since last time, imagining a dildo fucking your arse while you slurp at my cock like it’s your favourite lolly?” 

Potter groaned and snapped his eyes open to positively leer at me as he ran his tongue up and around my shaft as though it were definitely his favourite lolly. 

Fuck me, this mouth of mine was only going to get me into trouble. 

“Pretty sure Honeydukes was out of Malfoy-flavoured lolly last I checked,” he murmured cheekily, tongue still trailing along the sides of my shaft, flicking and swirling lazily around the head with each torturous stroke. 

“I suppose that’s why I’m here, putting up with your pretentious arse,” he added, giving one last, longing lick before he gave himself to swallowing me down again. 

I growled, arms still bound above my head, and retaliated by commanding the dildo to twist and pick up the pace. 

Potter groaned and arched his back even more, never relenting the pace his mouth had set as he continued to work up and down my length, the vibrations from his groans only serving to drive me wilder.

This had to stop. I had to do something. 

Potter’s mouth popped off of my prick suddenly and he stared up at me, bewildered, as an invisible barrier seemed to separate him from his treat. 

I had to give him a satisfied smile at that one. _Omnino angustos_. Block completely. Ha. 

“Sorry, kitten,” I sighed, watching his eyes flicker shut as the dildo changed its angle to hit his prostate more fully, relishing in the positively uninhibited moan that tore from his throat as it did so. 

“I want to hear how much you love being fucked proper by that dildo and I’m afraid my dick was absolutely getting in the way,” I explained, glad that my voice was managing to come out casually, as though I were completely unaffected by the mouth-watering sight Harry was before me. 

He had his head cradled in his arms, pressing into the mattress in an attempt to arch his back even more, hips rolling up and back to fuck back against the dildo. 

Merlin, I loved Harry like this. 

“Malfoy, _please_ ,” he sobbed, head turning so his eyes could meet mine. 

No. Actually, I loved Harry like _this_. 

Completely wrecked, eyes seeking mine, begging. Still fucking himself back onto the dildo as though he couldn’t have stopped his body if he’d tried. 

On a whim, I had the dildo withdraw from Harry’s body until just the tip of it remained, then had it stop suddenly. 

Harry let out a string of expletives and glared up at me. 

“Fuck. You. Malfoy,” he managed to grind out, quite clearly, despite the fact that his hips continued to rock back. Continued to fuck himself wide open on that dildo held stationary behind him. 

I merely raised an eyebrow and gazed pointedly at his arse, working itself back and forth and he swore again, burying his face in his arms in an attempt to quiet his moans. 

Sweet Hecate, could he _be_ any more fucking perfect? 

I sighed and commanded the dildo to withdraw and fall to the floor behind him with a thud and Harry all but began crying at the loss.

“Malfoy,” he whined, knees sliding out behind him, lowering his body to the mattress in one smooth motion, where he began to roll his hips, shamelessly humping into the bed. He turned his face towards me again, and I could see tears glistening on those impossibly long, thick lashes again. 

“Let me go, Potter,” I said softly. Yes, I _could_ have used a burst of magic to release myself, but I wanted _him_ to do it. 

He complied immediately and scrambled up into my arms when I held them out towards him. 

Harry settled himself in my lap, arms wrapping around my neck, fingers tangling themselves in my hair as I threaded one hand through his velvety locks, allowing myself to bury my nose and breathe in the scent of his stupid supermarket shampoo and his own delectable Harry-scent, my other hand pressing against his lower back, urging him closer. 

I’m not sure who even started the kiss, but it was fucking incredible. 

Frantic, desperate, so intense, I could have cum right there and, honestly, I’m not even sure how I didn’t, with Harry pressed so close against me, that perfect arse of his grinding back against my cock, letting it slip up and down his crack, those unholy moans of his vibrating into my mouth as our tongues danced and swirled together. 

I didn’t even bother to breathe, Harry and I just recycling each other’s air, refusing to separate because why the fuck _would_ we when clearly everything we needed was _right fucking here_? 

“ _Draco_.” 

It was that same fucking sound. 

That same sob. 

That sinful prayer. 

The one that drove me fucking _insane_. 

The one where I would do _anything_ Harry asked. 

“What?” I managed between kisses. Because we couldn’t _stop_ kissing. “What is it, Harry?” I murmured. “What is it my Harry wants?” 

“You,” he responded, immediately, voice still wrecked. “Draco, _please!_ ” 

I said I’d do anything he asked. 

Sweet Merlin, would I. 

I pushed him backwards, gently, moving with him, so that he was on his back, me settled between his thighs, those long, muscled legs circling up around my waist, pulling me closer, holding me tight against him so that I couldn’t have pulled away had I even been able to try. We were still kissing, uncontrollably, hands twisting through each other’s hair, pulling each other even closer, not that it was possible. Harry was groaning into me and I was drinking in every fucking sound he made like they were more precious than air. 

To be honest, they were. 

I tried to move to line my cock up with Harry’s opening, but he was wrapped too tightly around me. 

“Harry,” I murmured, trying to move out of his embrace, if only for a few seconds. “You have to let go. Just for a moment, kitten,” I soothed. 

He obliged and unwrapped his legs from my waist, even if his top half still clung tight, mouth reaching up for mine. As though he had to reach. As though I wasn’t eagerly kissing right back, wanting. No. _Needing_ to be inside of him. 

I cast a quick warming and lube spell then reached down and pressed the head of my cock into Harry’s loosened hole, my hitched breath at the velvet heat suddenly surrounding me matching perfectly with Harry’s gasp. 

I forced myself to push in slowly, just a little, then withdraw, back and forth, loosening him further.

“Draco,” he moaned again, hips rising to meet mine. “Please. I’m good.” 

Literally all the encouragement I needed. 

I sighed, shutting my eyes as I allowed myself to sink fully into Harry, felt him open and wrap tightly around me, his arms and legs mimicking that sinful embrace as they continued to wind their way around my shoulders and my hips, demanding that I press into him, let myself be swallowed by him, and fucking fuck it all to goddamned Hades, I was lost. 

My brain didn’t even work anymore. 

We were both moving completely on instinct. 

My hips drove into him just as frantically as he rose to meet mine.

No finesse or steady rhythm here.

No teasing.

This was desperate. Urgent. 

Not meant to last long because, to be honest, I wasn’t sure my psyche could survive this much longer. 

Harry’s mouth yielded beneath mine, all but swallowing my tongue as our mouths imitated our bodies, hungry and demanding, refusing to separate, even for a second because fuck breathing. 

Fuck everything except for Harry, and me, and this… this… 

Whatever the fuck this was. 

I was distantly aware of Harry’s moans becoming more high-pitched. Even more frantic. I obediently changed the angle of my hips so that I was sliding over that bundle of nerves with every stroke.

Harry had to cum soon. I couldn’t last much longer and there was no way I was coming before my Harry did. 

Suddenly, Harry stiffened beneath me, his arse clenching so tightly around me that I barely even noticed his nails raking down my back and legs clamping around me with such intensity I just knew I’d have bruises tomorrow. Hell, for a week, at least. 

I lasted all but half-a-stroke longer before my orgasm hit me like a freight train.

You know the sort, where you can see it coming and know you’ve no hope of stopping it before it’s there, barrelling through you with such an intensity that you get swept up and dragged along with it.

The kind that seems to last forever, where you’re spent and drained but your body keeps moving. Keeps pumping in and out of that incredible heat. Keeps driving in and out of that warm mouth.

Because he was still moving, that beautiful body of his still pressing up, that swollen mouth hot and open below me, demanding more and I _had_ to keep giving because _fuck_ he was perfect. 

I rolled us both over, Harry scrabbling to a sitting position, still hunched over, refusing to remove his mouth from mine.

As though I would have let him. 

I was still hard, despite the incredible orgasm that had just ripped through me, and Harry began to raise and lower himself on my cock, his own still standing erect, bobbing with his movements, a string of cum connecting it obscenely to his taut stomach. 

“Fuck, Draco,” he sighed, breaking our kiss, finally, his hips and thighs still working as he slid up and down my length. 

“Mmmm.” 

Frankly, I was pleased with my contribution to this conversation, given the mental state I was in. 

Harry leant back in, eyes half-lidded with lust, and I propped myself up on my elbows to meet him halfway, lips meeting for a slow, yearning kiss. 

The second time was a slow burn, bodies meeting and separating languidly, hands and lips exploring, familiarising ourselves with every bump and dip of the other’s body. 

When we finally came that time, it was like a warm wave that crested slowly and deliciously over my body. Almost without warning and without me having even noticed, save for the relaxed feeling of utter bliss it left in its wake. 

“Fuck, Malfoy,” Harry sighed above me. “Why the fuck do you have to be such a good lay?” 

He clambered off of me and I felt the mattress settle beside me as it cradled his weight. 

“Because I aim to do everything well, Potter,” I replied easily, not quite ready to open my eyes. 

When I finally did open them, I found myself staring into Harry’s brilliant green ones, a grin quirking down at me. 

“You’re a right poncy prat, you know that?” 

I merely raised my arms above my head and stretched, arching my back off the bed, and rolled my feet slowly to release any extra tension and “hmmed.” 

“You did that on purpose, you wanker,” Harry muttered, and I snapped my eyes open to see his raking over my naked form covetously. 

I certainly hadn’t. But I was going to remember that for next time. 

“Come, Potter,” I commanded, hopping off the bed, tugging his hand to have him follow along behind me. “Shower. Now.” 

***

I loved my bathroom. It was my sanctuary, my escape from the stress of life.

From mum when she nagged too much. 

From my father, when he’d still been around and I’d been forced to visit him in his cell and he’d still managed to make me feel the inadequate failure of a son he’d always seen me as.

From my job after a particularly dangerous mission when I questioned if this was maybe the last time I’d put my life in danger, knowing damned well that it wasn’t. 

I didn’t really invite anyone else in here. 

Then again, could you imagine a Muggle bloke? If I drew him towards my seemingly adequately sized en-suite, waved my hand, and let it expand to this over-indulgent, obnoxious piece of luxury? 

Even though Harry had been here before, his eyes widened a bit and he looked around like a child in a very large candy shop. 

“Your scenery’s changed,” he mused, staring out the floor-to-ceiling windows. 

I glanced “outside” at the charming French gardens, with their neatly manicured trees spreading out in a labyrinth, small clearings within decorated with fountains and small benches. 

“Oh,” I couldn’t even remember what scene had been outside last time I’d brought him here. Truth be told, I didn’t want to remember much of what had happened last time. “Yeah, erm, it’s just scenery from places I like,” I explained. “They change randomly. Kind of like a laptop screensaver.” 

I kept walking towards the showers on the opposite end and turned on the tap for both. I turned and smirked at Potter as he approached, still taking in the scenery outside. 

“It’s the view from my room in France,” I told him, and he smiled softly. 

Perfect.

Without warning, I grabbed one of the hand-held shower wands and pelted Harry with the spray, wielding it like a makeshift water pistol. 

“Malfoy!” he shrieked, hands raised to protect his face as he leaned into the spray, fumbling for the other hand-held, making to retaliate. 

Oh, goody. 

And retaliate, he did, grabbing the unit off the wall and aiming it at me, his left hand spinning the dial to find the strongest spray setting available. 

We battled it out for a good couple of minutes before I lost, dreadfully, having collapsed onto the floor in a fit of giggles at the sheer ridiculousness of Harry Fucking Potter and Draco Malfoy having a water fight in a shower. 

“Do you surrender, Malfoy?” he demanded, still spraying me, although he’d lessened the spray and was aiming it around my sides and bellybutton, because, apparently, the bastard had figured out exactly how ticklish I was. 

Back at school, most people had thought I was so cold and such a right bastard that I would’ve hexed _anyone_ who so much as brushed against me accidentally. Mostly because I’d _wanted_ them to think that on account of being so goddamned ticklish. 

Have you any idea how vulnerable you are in a dormitory full of teenaged boys when you’re _ticklish_?! 

“I do! I do!” I gasped, hands trying, unsuccessfully, to protect my most ticklish bits. “Ceasefire, sweet fucking Merlin, Potter!” 

He relented and replaced his showerhead back in its holder, stepping over to replace mine, which I’d left dangling when I’d collapsed. 

“Draco Malfoy, ticklish?” he mused. “Never tickle a sleeping dragon, hmm?” 

“I dare you to try,” I challenged. 

Literally the entirety of Slytherin house at Hogwarts had known better than to disturb my beauty rest. 

“No,” he replied, closing his eyes and turning his face up into the rain shower. “I’m pretty sure that motto was written for you.” 

I smirked as I raised my hands to knead along Potter’s shoulders, working at some knots there before working my thumbs up one side of his neck then the other. 

Potter groaned and leaned his head to one side, allowing me better access. 

“Merlin, Potter, don’t they have a masseuse on that damn team of yours?” 

“Apparently I don’t see her enough,” he murmured, leaning back into me as I allowed my hands to continue their ministrations down to the tender muscles just under his collarbones. No one ever thought to massage a person here, yet there was always so much tension carried there. 

“Mmmm,” he sighed, still leaning back against me, as I stopped the massage and allowed my hands to wander down over his chest and over his abdomen, mouth nuzzling into his neck, as my hands came to a rest just above those delectable hip bones of his. 

We stayed like this for a minute, then I forced myself to drag my hands back up, let them continue up past his neck, to tangle in the thick, soaking locks, fingers delicately working at his scalp. 

“Mmmm,” he groaned, this time, apparently much in-need of a good scalp massage. I was willing to bet Potter didn’t even sort of massage his scalp when he washed his hair. He probably just squirted some shampoo onto his head and sort of lathered it up then rinsed. 

I grabbed my bottle of shampoo (Molton Brown’s Glossing Shampoo, not just because it made my hair shine like fucking silver, but because it smelled delicious as well,) and squirted a bit into my palm, working it into a bit of a lather with my other hand, before turning my attention back to Harry. 

He was still leaning back against me, eyes closed, and I gently nudged him forward and out of the spray so I could work the lather into his hair properly. I took my time, fingers gently working in circles to work out any tightness in his scalp, as well as to work the shampoo into his locks. Perhaps I thought if I reached every single strand, individually, his hair might cooperate and not stick up all over the place. 

Right. I almost snorted with laughter. 

Reluctantly, I drew my hands away and urged Potter back beneath the spray, tilting his head back, using my hands to cradle his face and keep the water and soap from running into his eyes. 

“Bet you’ve never had your hair lathered like that, hm Potter?” 

His eyes blinked open dazedly, and he smiled slowly.

“No,” he admitted, shaking his head slowly. “I bet you wash your own hair like that all the time. Told you you were a poncy prat.” 

“First of all, Potter, you should absolutely give yourself a thorough scalp massage from time to time,” I informed him, moving aside to grab the accompanying conditioner. “You’ve no idea how much tension people store there, and it just drains down into your neck. Exactly why your neck is such a fucking wreck, I might add.” 

I squeezed a generous dollop of conditioner into my palm and nudged Potter out of the spray again before continuing.

“Secondly, a bit rich of you, calling _me_ a poncy git when _you’re_ the one who loves nothing more than a cock shoved down your throat while another fucks you up the arse,” I teased, smirking at him and he had the decency to look contrite. 

I raised my hands and began to massage the conditioner into his hair and he breathed in deeply again. 

“What’re you doing now?” 

“What do you mean, what am I doing now?” I demanded, still working at his hair, combing the conditioner through with my fingers. “I’m putting conditioner in your damnable hair.” 

Suddenly, I paused, an absolutely inconceivable notion coming to me.

“Oh. My. Fucking. Morgana,” I stared down at him, hands still tangled in his hair. 

“You don’t use conditioner, do you, Potter?” I accused, glaring at him. No wonder his hair was such a mess. 

He grinned up at me sheepishly but didn’t respond. Really, it was all the response I needed. 

“I bet you use one of those ridiculous 2-in-1 shampoo/conditioner bullshit products,” I went on, fingers returning to their mission of applying proper product to Potter’s hair for the first time in, well, forever, probably. 

Potter’s shoulders were shaking in silent laughter as he peered up at me.

“Actually, it’s a 3-in-1. It’s body wash, too,” he admitted. 

My hands dropped from his head to my sides and I stared at him incredulously. 

“No,” I stated. I was still staring at him, waiting for him to tell me this was his idea of a bad joke. “Absolutely fucking not. You’re joking.” 

Potter was still staring up at me sheepishly. 

“Merlin, no wonder your hair is such a damnable wreck,” I scolded. 

“You’re going to throw that piece of shit away and you’ll never speak to me of such nonsense ever again,” I informed him. 

Potter shrugged and made to move towards the spray.

“What in Merlin’s name do you think you’re doing?!” I squawked, jerking him back towards me and away from the water like it was a fucking Dementor. 

“Rinsing,” he responded, looking confused.

“Now? Gods, Potter, you utter heathen,” I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. 

“Well, what else am I supposed to do?” He looked so adorably lost and confused that I almost kissed the tip of his nose. 

“Three minutes, Potter,” I informed him. “You’re supposed to leave it in for three minutes.” 

He stared at me as though I’d just sprouted another head. 

“I’m just supposed to stand here and wait with this goop on my head for three goddamned minutes?” 

“Potter,” I sighed again. Really, was he trying to be obtuse? “Please tell me that your daily ablutions consist of more than slathering that pretty head of yours with shower gel?” 

“Oh,” he let out a little laugh. “Right. I don’t know why I thought I had to stand here, still as a statue, while I waited.” 

I rolled my eyes and tossed my bottle of shower gel at him with a spare washcloth.

“There,” I instructed, as he caught both in one hand. Showoff. “Use that.” 

He squirted a bit of the gel onto the cloth and inhaled deeply.

“Mmm,” he sighed. “This smells like you.” 

“Of course it does,” I replied, shutting my eyes and working shampoo into my own hair. “It’s mine.” 

We spent the next few minutes scrubbing and lathering in silence, then:

“Hey, Malfoy.” 

I opened my eyes to see Potter smirking at me. 

“Since I’ve been such a good boy, letting you manhandle me in your shower,” he began, leaning back to rinse the conditioner from his hair. 

I waited, patiently, wondering what bargain Potter was trying to drive. 

“What?” I demanded, after what seemed like ages and Potter was still standing there, letting the water pour down over him, clearly blissed out from his first experience with conditioner. 

His eyes opened and slanted over towards me, and he flashed an impish little grin my way. 

Next I knew, Harry was on his knees before me, mouth sliding down my cock, as though he hadn’t just had it lodged down his throat for the better part of the evening. 

“Merlin, you’re insatiable, Potter,” I informed him. 

“Mmmm,” he replied, still swallowing me down. 

Well. Let hell freeze if I was going to be the one to stop him. 

I closed my eyes, allowing my fingers to tangle in his (much more manageable) mop and lost myself in a wicked fantasy where Potter’s mouth working my cock outside in an actual rainstorm. 

***

Somehow we ended up in the tub, kissing, despite the fact both of us should have known damned well by now that kissing was a horrible idea. 

Seriously. Potter was a drug. A fucking dangerous one, at that. 

How else to explain how one transitions from rinsing hair, to a mind-blowing blow job, to frantic kissing, and somehow ending up in a bathtub full of fragrant bath oil, just, well. _Kissing_. 

Potter was clearly made out of crack. 

It was the only logical explanation for how I needed to nuzzle my face into his neck, biting, licking, sucking. How I had to mark him as _mine_ so that no other idiot bloke would come after my stash, apparently. 

Harry, like the habit-forming drug he was, continued to moan and press closer and all but surround me with him so there was absolutely no way I could have escaped.

“Malfoy,” he sighed, head tilting back, allowing me better access as I sucked a particularly purple bruise on to the side of his neck, licking at it to soothe the sting. 

So I was _Malfoy_ again, was I? 

I growled and lifted stupid Harry from my lap, bending him over the edge of the sunken tub, adding a cushioning charm for his comfort, before pressing myself up behind him, placing kisses along the back of his neck, my hands trailing down his back as I sank to my knees behind him, continuing to place little kisses and nips along his gorgeous arse. 

Harry rolled his hips back into my eager palms as I pushed him open and I’m pretty sure we both moaned as I slowly licked up between his cheeks. 

The cedar and sandalwood from the shower gel and bath oil only added to the sweet, musky taste that was pure Harry and I pressed back in to lick and swirl my tongue around his entrance, all pink and puffy from the dildo and my cock. 

I slipped inside easily, not even bothering to suppress my sigh of pleasure as Harry’s silken channel moulded itself around my tongue, Harry’s moans only encouraging me as I continued to fuck my tongue in and out of him, not too quickly just yet. 

I wanted to take my time. Wanted to taste every damned inch of him. Wanted him collapsed and incoherent above me, babbling whatever litanies popped into his head, hips fucking shamelessly back onto my face with an urgency that would make the poor bastard blush so prettily when I told him so later. 

Harry undone was quickly becoming my favourite fantasy. 

And he was no less spectacular tonight that he had been in all of my fantasies since. Well. Since ever, really. 

He positively keened when I withdrew my tongue from his arse, only to begin lapping at his slackened hole with gentle flicks, swirling around the puffed rim every so often with just the tip of my tongue, withdrawing as he tried to impale himself on me. 

“Draco,” he begged, and I allowed myself a triumphant little smirk before licking a slow stripe up his crack, planting slow, open-mouthed kisses up his spine and across his shoulders as I rose behind him.

“Please,” he sighed again, leaning back into me, his head cradled in the crook of my neck, arse grinding against my cock. 

He reached an arm up over his shoulder to draw my head closer to his from behind and I could only follow as he bent my head down for a sloppy kiss. 

Merlin, Harry, you’re filthy, I thought. Not that I was complaining, mind. 

I didn’t break the kiss as I leaned us both forward, right hand searching along the floor around the tub for the secret box I knew was there. 

The catch sprang open, and I delved around inside, searching. 

“What?” Harry seemed to have finally noticed what I was doing, and he broke away, turning to look at the hidden cache in front of him. 

It was a small “treasure chest” of all sorts of toys and lubes and Harry turned his head to give me a scandalised look. 

“What?” I shrugged. “Bath time should be fun.” 

He grinned, eyes raking down me.

“Clearly.” 

His eyes glanced back towards my hand, now emerging from the recess holding a glass dildo. 

It was one of my favourites, about 17cm in length with a pronounced mushroom head and a dark green raised ridge that spiralled down the entire length. 

To say that I had wasted countless hours of my life playing with this particular toy would be somewhat of an understatement. 

"Where’d you find that?” Harry asked, eyeing the toy appreciatively. 

“Don’t remember, honestly,” I replied, raising the thick head of the toy towards Harry’s luscious mouth. 

He opened without hesitation, tongue gently lapping at the underside of the fake prick before sucking the head of it into his mouth, eyes slanting up at me to flash a wicked grin when he felt my own prick jump at the sight of him. 

“Merlin, Harry,” I sighed, watching as he continued to suck and lick at the tip of the dildo. “I’m not sure if it ought to be illegal or mandatory for you to constantly have a dick to suck with that sinful mouth of yours.” 

Harry gave the head a particularly obscene suck before popping off momentarily.

“Mandatory,” he replied, “Definitely mandatory,” he added, the tip of his tongue beginning to flick gently at the bits of the emerald ridges he could reach running up the side of the dildo facing him. 

I watched absolutely bewitched as he reached the head of the toy again, lapping at the head then sucking it gently into his mouth, green eyes watching me the entire time.

Fuck me. 

I’d gotten the damned thing in emerald green because I’d been younger and house pride was still a thing. 

The fact that it matched Harry’s eyes perfectly made me damned glad that I had. 

Harry’s eyes slid shut as he sucked the length of the glass shaft down, groaning as the ridges played across his tongue, no doubt imagining what they would do to his insides once I’d twisted and teased it into his arse. 

“Can you imagine, Harry,” I whispered into his ear, gently easing the dildo out of his mouth, the bastard sucking hard as he could to draw it back in despite my efforts. 

I must have gasped or groaned or something because Harry’s eyes opened and he managed to smirk up at me as he swallowed the damned thing down his throat again, hollowing his cheeks as he sucked back up, releasing it and turning to loop his arms around my neck. 

“Imagine what?” he asked, hopping up, so he was sitting on the edge of the tub, legs twining behind me to wrap around my waist and draw me closer. 

I placed both hands on either side of Harry’s hips and leaned in to suck gently at his bottom lip, tongue darting out to lick into his mouth. 

“This glass cock,” I answered, raising it to his lips again and running the head of it along his bottom lip. “Twisting slowly, in and out of that sweet arse of yours.” 

“Mmm,” Potter made a noise of agreement as he leaned back on his elbows, then slid back so he was lying splayed out before me, eyes fluttering shut, a dreamy smile flitting across his face. 

Then those emerald eyes snapped open, pinning me with his gaze. 

“Won’t feel half as good as you, I’d wager, but I’m sure it’ll be nice,” he mused, eyes still watching me, hand trailing down his chest and abdomen, creeping towards his dick.

I smacked his hand away from its path and glared down at him. 

“Christ, Malfoy,” he grumbled. “Why won’t you ever let me touch myself?” 

“Because,” I replied, trailing the tip of the glass prick down his chest “ _I_ get to play with you.” 

I paused while I continued to trail the dildo down Harry’s abdomen, letting it graze the head of his dick, swirling it in his pre-cum, before continuing down his shaft, finally letting the head of it nestle between his bollocks. 

“If you want to wank yourself like a bloody teenager, you can do that at your own place on your own time,” I finished, raising the dildo to my mouth and sucking the flared head of it into my mouth. 

Harry’s eyes were riveted to me, licking and sucking at the glass head, knowing I was tasting him, watching my eyes flutter shut as I moaned quietly.

I hadn’t even realised my own hand had begun to stroke my cock until Harry sat up, frowning, and I felt him smack it away. 

“Ow,” I protested, shaking my hand. “Fucking Merlin, Harry, you don’t have to break it.” 

“If I don’t get to touch mine, you don’t get to touch yours,” he insisted, hand snaking down to wrap itself around my cock, stroking gently. 

I groaned and let the dildo fall, splashing into the tub, and falling to the bottom, all but forgotten, as Harry tilted his head to fit his mouth to mine, tongue swiping inside, swallowing my next moan. 

My left hand reached down to circle around Harry in return, and fuck me, but when was the last time a handjob felt so good? 

We stayed like that for gods know how long, hands slipping up and down each other lengths, mouths devouring, bodies pressing impossibly close again. 

“Draco,” Harry moaned, his hand picking up speed as his hips bucked up into my own hand, urging me to go faster. 

The next few moments were a blur.

Tongues battling, bodies rutting frantically, then teeth biting lips and necks and collarbones. 

I was vaguely aware of swatting Harry’s hand out of the way and fisting both our cocks together, hand moving desperately, kissing and moaning into Harry’s mouth until we both exploded in such quick succession I’m not even sure who came first. 

Harry continued to grind up into my slowing fist, legs still wrapped tightly around me, and I dragged my mouth from his, ignoring his cry of protest, to latch on to his neck, deepening the purple mark I’d begun earlier. 

We stayed like that, bodies slumped against each other, my head resting in the crook of Harry’s neck, his own flopped over on top of mine, breath slowly relaxing, arms coming up to wrap around each other, tracing patterns across backs, hands tangling lazily in hair, finally starting to dry after the shower and the bath and the sweat. 

“I’m… bed…” Harry mumbled. 

“Yeh. Me, too,” I replied sleepily. 

Less than five minutes later, Harry and I were snuggled beneath my covers, bodies still insisting on pressing as close together as possible, my arms wrapping around him from behind as he nestled backwards into me, sleep already taking over before I could think to question all the reasons why this was a terrible idea. 

***

I awoke next morning absolutely dying beneath the heat of my comforter and realised I’d forgotten to cast the usual cooling charm I used to ensure I didn’t wake up a sweaty, dreadful mess. 

The next thing I noticed was Harry, positively wrapped around my side, clinging to me, not the slightest bit overheated at all. 

“Ugh, Potter,” I mumbled, casting a quick cleaning and drying spell, shuddering as I felt the clammy sweatiness evaporate from me. “Get off, I’m a mess.” 

“Mmmm,” came Harry’s reply as he snuggled more deeply into my side. 

“I’m going to get coffee and some brekkie going. Can I get up now?” I tried again.

“Mmmph.” 

Harry, I was learning, was not a morning person, and also a very heavy sleeper. 

Sighing, I untangled myself from his limbs, which seemed to number much more than four, the way they kept wrapping themselves right back around me as I worked to free myself. 

Saviour of the Wizarding World. Defeater of Voldemort. Snuggle Monster Extraordinaire. 

I gave a slight giggle at Harry’s new title as I pulled on a pair of pyjamas and made for the kitchen. 

I yawned, stretching my arms up over my head as I sauntered over to my Lavazza espresso machine. There was no way I could ever start my day without a properly brewed cup of coffee. 

Most workdays I brewed a quick double shot of espresso as I headed out the door.

The weekends, however, I liked to indulge in a cappuccino or a latte, topped with a decadent, caramel-filled stroopwafel from Amsterdam. 

I had no idea how Harry liked his coffee. Or if he even drank coffee. 

Shrugging, I prepared a second mug of cappuccino and then filled the kettle with water and set it on the burner, should he decide to take tea instead. 

“Mmm,” came Harry’s sleepy voice behind me. “Coffee.” 

Well, that answered that. 

I turned to him, taking in his adorably rumpled appearance, clad only in his jeans, and held out one steaming mug of cappuccino topped with a stroopwafel before picking up my own and heading into the dining room.

Harry followed, carefully holding his mug with both hands, setting it down on the table gingerly, and peering at the treat topping his mug.

“What’s that?” he asked, prodding at it gently with one finger. 

“A strope-waffle,” I replied, curling my legs up beneath me on the loveseat. 

Really, putting the small sofa along one side of the table had been absolutely brilliant of me. I’d only done it because I’d had a bunch of people over and not enough chairs when I’d first moved in, but had decided I loved it so much, it had remained. 

“A what?” Harry glanced over at me, puzzled. His voice was still raspy, and I realised it wasn’t just from sleep but also an aural reminder of just exactly what Potter had been up to for most of last night. For some reason, that pleased me to no end. 

“You’ve never had a stroopwafel, Potter?” I was so amazed, I forgot all about gloating over his raspy voice. 

“I don’t think so,” he replied, giving it another prod with his finger.

“Merlin, Potter, it’s not going to bite you,” I drawled, rolling my eyes. “It’s a coffee treat from Holland. It’s like a waffle cookie that’s filled with caramel.”

Harry’s eyes brightened at this and he sat up a little straighter, licking his lips, as he reached for the treat resting above his mug. 

“Hey!” he looked positively hurt as he withdrew his hand following the smack I’d given him as he’d reached for the stroopwafel. 

“You have to wait for the caramel to get all melty,” I advised. “Trust me, it’s worth it.” 

Harry pouted and glared at his mug, all but willing the stroopwafel to hurry up and melt with his eyes and I had to chuckle.

“I can’t believe you’ve never had one,” I admitted. “I mean, you love treacle and all that sort of thing so much, I figured you would have discovered these by now.” 

“How’d you know I love treacle?” he asked, still watching the stroopwafel as though it needed his constant gaze to heat properly. 

I rolled my eyes again.

“Seriously Potter,” I snickered. “You moaned so loudly whenever it was served, all of Hogwarts knew exactly how much you loved it.” 

“… so… this is what you eat for breakfast?” he asked, a hint of disappointment in his voice. 

“No, Potter,” I replied, deciding, for once, not to be an arse and not tease him. “This is what I eat while waking up and summoning the energy to make real breakfast.” 

“Oh.” He glanced over at me quickly. “How long does it take this thing to melt?” 

I poked at mine gently and noticed the telltale give in the waffle and picked it up, breaking it in half and smiling as a gooey string of caramel stretched between the two halves. 

Harry needed no further encouragement and reached for his own, breaking it in half and pulling the pieces apart, watching the caramel stretch. 

The string broke, most of it falling on Harry’s hand and he immediately bent his head to lick the sticky caramel from the side of his palm. 

Oh. This had been a big mistake, I realised, as Harry gave a most lustful moan as he continued to lick at the caramel covering his hand. 

“Hades have mercy, Potter,” I managed, my own stroopwafel and cappuccino entirely forgotten as I watched the wanton display in front of me. “No wonder you’ve never had one of these. No one in their right mind would let you consume one in public.” 

He paused mid-lick and glanced over at me, as though just realising the noises he was making. 

Then, his eyes darkened, and he smirked over at me, continuing to lick his way up his palm, moaning again, letting his eyes slide shut as he continued, trailing his tongue up his middle finger, before sliding it into his mouth. 

“Then I suppose it’s a good thing we’re not in public, hmm?” 

“Tease,” I muttered, picking up my mug and taking a sip, glaring at him over the rim.

Potter made no response, just kept eating his stroopwafel, dipping it into his cappuccino, still moaning quietly because he was a slut for caramel, apparently. 

We sat in relative silence, drinking our coffee, eating the stroopwafels, and I briefly wondered if I should get up and make a proper breakfast. 

I was broken from my musings to find a very impish-looking Harry kneeling between my knees, eyes focused on my cock, which had, apparently, been very aware of what Harry was up to, given its current semi-hard state. 

“Potter,” I sputtered, setting my mug back on the table. “What…”

“Shh,” he soothed, vanishing my pyjamas and leaning in to lick up my cock. 

“Mmm,” he sighed, once he’d reached the tip. “Caramel _and_ Malfoy. Now that's a lolly.” 

He grinned up at me cheekily and I snorted, rolling my eyes in response. 

The man was ridiculous. 

Ridiculous and gifted with an incredibly talented mouth, I amended silently, as Harry began to lick and suck at my cock, looking for all the world as though this were his ideal morning routine. 

“Careful, Potter,” I sighed as he finally slid down, swallowing around my cock yet again, “You’re not going to be able to talk for the rest of the day if you keep that up.” 

Harry merely sighed and continued to suck up and down my cock a few times before releasing it.

“Why don’t you let me worry about that, Malfoy?” he suggested silkily, mouthing along the side of my shaft as he did so. 

I groaned as Harry licked back up to tease the head of my cock a bit before sliding back down, and really, I’d warned him, so any consequence Harry had for sucking too much cock was certainly none of my business anymore.

I closed my eyes and sank lower in the loveseat, spreading my thighs, allowing Harry better access, as I lost myself in the wet, satiny heat of his mouth working up and down my length, throat opening and swallowing around me like it’s what Harry was put on this earth to do. 

Merlin, this was a bloody nice way to start the weekend, I thought lazily, feeling my orgasm rise all too quickly under Harry’s expert mouth. 

Without any warning that delicious warmth was gone and my eyes snapped open only to see Potter smirking up at me. 

“Edging, eh, Malfoy?” he quipped, licking his lips, with a positively evil glint in his eye before he disappeared with a pop. 

The fucking bastard, I groaned to myself, wrapping my hand around my aching dick resignedly. 

Bringing only the Slytherin bits of him, indeed. 


	7. Happy Birthday, Harry!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not much action here, but Harry's friends are getting curious about his personal life.  
> Also, Blaise Zabini and Ron are friends and Zabini is at Harry's party.  
> How will Harry react?

_Friday Evening_

_31_ _July 2009_

_Harry's POV_

“Happy Birthday, Harry!” 

The same wish resounded from numerous well-wishers as I made my way through Ron and Hermione’s flat towards their garden. 

All friends and people I was genuinely glad to see, even if I hated birthday parties. 

Especially when celebrating the very last year of my twenties which had me feeling particularly old and unaccomplished. 

I finally reached the garden and saw that the party was in full swing. 

“Harry!” Hermione’s voice called over the din of the other guests and she ran to greet me, brown eyes sparkling. “Finally!”

“Sorry, ‘Mione,” I smiled ruefully. “Practice ran a bit late.” 

“Don’t worry ‘bout it, Harry,” Ron assured me, coming up behind me and slinging his arm around my shoulders as Hermione threw her arms around me and pulled me in for a tight hug. 

So she’d had a few drinks already, I mused, grabbing my own cup of punch from the table. 

“A toast!” George called out. “Birthday boy is here!” 

I couldn’t help but grin as George raised his plastic cup high, banging on it with a plastic fork as the crowd gathered round. 

“As we all know, our boy Harry is entering the last year of his twenties,” George continued, and I shot him my best glare, earning laughs from the crowd.

I glanced around and felt thankful that I had such a great circle of mates, literally.

Ron, Hermione, George, of course. They were the obvious ones. 

Along with the rest of the Weasley clan. Molly & Arthur. Bill and Fleur with their daughters, Victoire and Dominique. Charlie, Ginny, and her partner, Micah. 

Neville, Lee, Luna. 

Neville’s wife, Hannah, who had been in Hufflepuff while we were at Hogwarts. Lee's wife, Sarah, a muggle, looking around in awe at the magical decorations fluttering about. 

Lavender, the Patil twins (who, honestly, hadn’t been “Patils” for a number of years now, but who cared?) and a number of other acquaintances we’d all made in the past years. 

And Blaise Zabini? I knew he and Ron were partners and got on but certainly hadn’t expected him here at my birthday. 

“Now, I know we’d all hoped our boy Harry was going to show up presenting to us the love of his life, now that he’s all situated on that Grindr app,” George continued.

“Oy!” I shouted, not thinking my next words through. “C’mon, mate, that’s the complete _opposite_ of what Grindr’s for!”

Several in the crowd laughed, and I caught sight of Molly turning a bright crimson, hand clapped to her mouth, although I could see the corners of her eyes crinkling in a smile. 

“What _is_ it used for, then, Harry?” Lee shouted, much to my chagrin. 

“Erm. Conversation?” I managed, causing the group to laugh good-naturedly. 

“Yes,” George continued without skipping a beat. “ _Conversation_. That’s what you lads are calling it these days.” More laughter from the crowd. 

“Absolutely, and George here is hoping he can convince a bird to converse with him any day now,” I responded cheekily, taking a large gulp from my drink. 

“All joking aside, Harry,” George continued, seriously. “All of us here are damn lucky to call you friend, and we wish you the happiest of birthdays. Everyone raise your glass to Harry!” 

Everyone raised a glass and tipped back a drink, then the crowd dispersed into smaller groups and I wandered over to where Ron, Hermione and Zabini were standing. 

“Hullo, Harry,” Zabini said quietly as I approached, offering his hand. “Happy birthday.”

“Thanks, Zabi… erm. Blaise,” I corrected myself, taking his hand and Ron smiled genuinely, clearly having been a bit apprehensive about Blaise being invited. 

“No problem, Harry,” he grinned, then motioned to the stunning woman standing beside him. “This is my wife, Anaïs,” he continued.

“‘Ello,” she greeted me, stepping forward to grasp both my shoulders and kiss first one cheek then the other. “So pleased to meet you,” she continued, in what I now knew to be a very thick French accent.

“Oh, erm, thank you,” I managed. “You, too.”

“‘Arry!” It was Fleur, coming towards me, little Dominique in her arms. “You ‘ave met Anaïs? We were at Beauxbatons togezehr,” she explained. “I told ‘er she and Blaise ‘ _ad_ to come!”

“Of course,” I laughed, plucking Dominique from her arms and tossing her up in the air, earning squeals of delight from the toddler. “The more the merrier.” 

“Thanks, Harry,” Zabini said, looking quite earnest, and I decided I was quite alright with both he and Anaïs being at my party. 

I set Dominique down to toddle off after Fleur and Anaïs and turned to face the other three again.

“So, Harry,” Ron clapped me on my back, clearly a few drinks in. “Still enjoying Grindr, then?” 

“Oh, you know,” I shrugged casually. “It’s getting the job done.”

“Enjoying the conversations, are we?” Blaise joked, smirking, and I laughed. 

“Sure. The lengthier ones, in particular,” I winked, smirking back, earning a hearty guffaw from Blaise. 

“I’m sure that’s the point, hmm, Potter?” 

“Weed out the chaff, mate,” I agreed, taking another sip of my drink, not quite believing that Zabini and I were having not only a decent conversation, but an amusing one.

“I _knew_ you two would get on,” Ron burst out gleefully, and Zabini and I exchanged grins. 

“Harry!” It was Ginny. 

“Hey, luv,” I greeted, grabbing her and spinning her round. “How are you?” 

“Lovely,” she giggled, stumbling a little when I set her back on her feet. 

“Damn, clearly I’ve some catching up to do with all you lot,” I observed.

“You’re nearly an hour late to your own party, silly,” she chided. “We were all sure you were going to blow it off or something.” 

“What? I would never!” It was the truth, too. Honestly.

“So, tell me all about him,” Ginny whispered, tucking my arm through hers and leading me away from the crowd. 

“Who?” 

Ginny huffed and glared up at me. 

“Harry, I know we weren’t the most romantically involved, but we _were_ married for five years and I _do_ know your stupid face,” she informed me. 

“Really, Gin, it’s not like that,” I promised, downing the rest of my drink.

“No?” 

“No,” I repeated. “Really. It’s just sex.” 

“Must be really good sex,” she pointed out. I shrugged.

“Oooh,” she squealed, and I clapped a hand over her mouth, looking back at the crowd as a few of them glanced over in our direction.

“Shut _up_ , Gin,” I hissed, earning more giggles from her.

“Oh, Harry,” she gasped, still giggling, “He must be in _cred_ ible!”

“You’ve no idea,” I muttered, knowing Gin would be relentless. 

“How big _is_ he?” she demanded, blue eyes glittering, “Do I even have a strap-on that would’ve been comparable?” 

Not for the first time did I regret ever letting her know my “secret.” 

And, _no_ , she had never used one of her strap-ons with me. 

We really had just been there to see each other through and offer moral support until we were both ready to come out. 

“Even if you did, _Ginevra_ , you’d never be able to replicate the attitude,” I informed her, quite truthfully.

“Oooh, I’m Ginevra now, am I? He sounds positively _devious_ ,” she crooned. “I bet you _love_ it.” 

“Like I said,” I repeated. “The sex is incredible.” 

“Can’t wait to meet him,” she replied, nodding enthusiastically.

“What?” I shot her a confused look. “Gin, you’re never going to meet him.” 

“Ok, Harry, luv,” she agreed, rolling her eyes and lighting a cigarette. 

Ginny had become quite taken with the muggle addiction, and I had to admit, she made it look damn good. 

“Seriously,” I insisted.

“I know,” she responded, blowing the smoke away from me, everything about her tone, expression, and posture, telling me that she most certainly did not believe me. 

“It’s not like that.” 

“Then what is it like, luv?” she asked, this time not bothering to blow the smoke away from me. 

“I’m not sure you’d understand, or want to,” I admitted. 

“Harry,” she rolled her eyes. “You know you can tell me anything, right?” 

“There’s nothing to tell, Gin,” I insisted, and honestly, I wasn’t sure if I was telling it to myself or her. 

“How many times have you “just fucked?” she asked, eyes narrowing. 

“Three,” I answered truthfully, thinking this would prove to her how un-serious this all was.

“Only three?” she was looking at me incredulously. 

“The fuck do you mean, Gin?” I demanded. Only three.

“I just mean you’re pretty far-gone for only three rounds,” she observed again. 

I didn’t respond, verbally anyway. 

Just frowned, racking my brain for what I’d said or done to make Ginny think I was “far-gone.” 

“Harry,” she sighed, putting out her cigarette. “Do you even know what your face looks like right now?” 

“Confused?” I guessed. 

Gin smiled again. 

“Sure,” she agreed. “But whenever you talk about him, you look positively happy.” 

“Erm. Ok.” 

“And I don’t think it’s just his magnificent cock making you look like that,” she added, smirking.

“Are you sure?” I countered, smirking back. 

Ginny opened her mouth to respond. 

“Oy!” It was Ron. “You two! We want to cut the cake!”

“Again, Haz, can’t wait to meet him,” Ginny called out, running back towards the crowd before I could respond. 

Sighing, I made my way back to the group gathering around the giant cake Hermione had ordered, ablaze with candles.

“Make a wish, Harry!” Hermione urged once they’d finished singing. 

I stared at the candles for a moment, then tossed all caution to the wind and wished for… well… him. 


	8. Hell Freezes Over

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Golden Trio and, erm, the Slytherin trio (?) meet up for a friendly pint at the end of a long week.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to admit, I love this chapter. 
> 
> I hope you do, too.

_Friday Afternoon_

_07 August 2009_

_Harry's POV_

“So, erm, Harry,” Hermione said suddenly, biting her lip. 

We were having tea in muggle London, enjoying the last days of summer, lounging on the patio of one of our favourite tea spots.

“Hmm?” 

“I know you and Blaise got on ok at your party,” she launched right into it, glancing at Ron, for encouragement, I supposed. 

“Yeah, he was great,” I admitted. “Why? Want to hang out again?” 

She nodded, smiling happily. 

“Yes,” she sighed, swirling her teacup in her hands nervously. “Ron and I were thinking of going out for a pint with both our work partners,” she continued. “And we want you to come with obviously.” 

“Ok,” I agreed. 

Hermione took a deep breath and looked me straight in the eye. 

Uh-oh. This wasn’t good.

“My work partner is Draco,” she stated, watching me closely for my reaction. 

Oh, shit. 

Draco had mentioned that they worked together, but I hadn’t thought of them as work _partners_ , per se. I’d assumed there was a whole bunch of them in the Department of Mysteries, all working together to, well, you know. Solve mysteries. 

I carefully schooled my face into what I hoped was a neutral expression.

“Oh?”

“Erm, yeah,” she glanced down at her hands, twisting nervously in her lap. 

“He’s really changed,” she added quickly. “Really.” 

“He’s not at all the way he was at school,” Ron added, helpfully. 

“You’ve hung out with _Malfoy_?” What was my world coming to?

Ron shrugged.

“He’s joined Blaise and me for a few,” he admitted. “He was fine. Bloody hilarious, actually. Witty bugger, that one.” 

“Draco does have a wicked sense of humour,” Hermione admitted, smiling fondly. 

I sat there staring at both of them. Nevermind that I was fucking Malfoy. That was different, mind. 

“So, what do you say, Harry?” Ron asked. 

I looked from him to Hermione, taking in the hopeful expressions on both their faces and sighed. 

“I can’t believe I’m agreeing to this, but ok.” 

“Excellent,” Hermione was all but beaming at me. “You’ll see, it’ll be fun.” 

I snorted. 

I was sure this outing was going to be any number of things. I just wasn’t sure _fun_ would be one of them. 

***

Turns out, they’d invited Pansy Parkinson along, too, I realised as I entered the pub and saw Hermione, Ron, Blaise, and Pansy sitting at a table in the corner just past the bar. Draco was yet to show, it seemed. 

It made sense, I supposed. She and I, the third-wheel to their working-partner duos, or something like that. 

Ron, Hermione, and I usually hung out in muggle establishments to keep me out of the limelight, and I’d been surprised that Blaise and Draco had agreed to this. But Parkinson in a Muggle pub? This had to be a first. 

“Harry!” Hermione waved me over excitedly, as though I’d somehow missed them, and I couldn’t help but grin.

“Hello,” I greeted the four of them, smiling. 

I slung one arm loosely around Ron’s shoulder before leaning over to give Hermione a perfunctory kiss on the cheek, per my usual greeting, before taking a seat between the two of them. 

Blaise was seated to Ron’s left, and Pansy to Hermione’s right, with a sixth empty chair, presumably for Draco, between them. Directly across from me. 

“What, Potter, no kiss hello for me?” Pansy deadpanned, looking downright hurt. 

I stared at her, mouth slightly open, before bursting out laughing.

“Sorry, Parkinson, where _are_ my manners?” I teased. 

“Don’t mind Pansy,” Blaise drawled, taking a sip of his pint. “She’ll do anything to get attention from a fit bloke.” 

“Well, in that case, Parkinson, I suppose I’ve no choice but to greet you properly,” I said, winking as I stood from my seat and made my way around the table, giving Pansy a lingering kiss on her cheek, keeping my arm wrapped around her shoulders as I sat at the empty seat between her and Blaise.

Might as well mix things up a little, I supposed. 

“Merlin, Potter, who would’ve guessed you were such a flirt?” Pansy teased, lifting a hand to stroke my hand resting on her shoulder. 

"Harry’s incorrigible,” Hermione informed her, and I shrugged.

“Worked well for me, so far,” I reasoned. “‘Course, you should probably be aware I’m more keen to take home someone from the other team.” I slid a glance back at Pansy, grinning as I removed my arm.

“Of _course_ you are,” she grumbled, although her eyes were sparkling with mirth. “You lot insist on taking all the pretty ones.” 

“Surely that’s the point, Luv,” I winked, then glanced around the table at their nearly empty pints. “Is everyone ready for another round? This one’s on me.” 

“Absolutely,” Ron agreed, enthusiastically draining the remainder of his pint and pounding it back on the table. 

I rose from my seat yet again to make my way to the bar, eyeing the taps as I did so. 

“Get Draco something blond,” Hermione called. “He got held up at work but said he’ll be here shortly.” 

I leaned against the bar, flagging the barman down and ordered another round, adding a brown ale and a blond lager for Malfoy. Of course, he drank blond beer. 

“Here, mate,” Blaise said, appearing suddenly at my elbow. “I’ll help you carry.” 

“Thanks,” I replied. I’d been wondering how I’d get all six pints back to the table without spilling or using magic. “Where’s Anaïs?” 

“She and Fleur are having their own ladies' night,” he answered, grabbing three of the pints the barman set down. “Figured there’s enough baggage being unpacked tonight without adding those two to the mix.” 

“Fair enough,” I reasoned, grabbing the other three pints to head back to the table. 

“So, Potter,” Pansy continued, taking a drag from a cigarette. Apparently she was also a fan of the Muggle habit. “Aside from all that nonsense drivel the Prophet prints, what have you been up to?” 

“Pulling blokes,” Ron answered for me, smirking. “Then complaining they don’t measure up to his standards.” 

I pulled a face at Ron but didn’t comment as I took a sip of my pint.

“Potter!” Pansy squealed in delight. “Who would’ve guessed we’d have so much in common!” 

“Oh? You find a lot to complain about, too?” I asked, looking over at her with a genuine smile. 

“They’re so silly,” she confided, leaning closer to me. “Thinking they can hide their little imperfections like they won’t come out to air themselves after a few dates. Like we don’t _know_ men are all sex-driven idiots, at their core.” 

I laughed, just as much at Pansy’s comment as at the indignant faces Ron and Blaise both shot in her direction. 

“I mean, you’re not wrong,” I agreed. I was certainly guilty of being a sex-driven idiot of late if my actions around a certain blond wizard were any indication. 

“You’ll have to come with Drakey and me for a decent boy-hunting session one weekend,” she informed me. “It’ll be fun. Drakey always rakes the dumb ones across the coals and the poor fools have no idea.” 

“ _Drakey_ _?”_ I echoed. Oh, I was going to have to steal that one. 

“Spilling all of my secrets, are we, Pans?” Draco’s drawl came smoothly from right behind me, and I spun around to face him. 

Merlin, this was going to be a long night. 

Draco was dressed in a light grey button-down that seemed to fit him perfectly, sleeves rolled up to show off the well-defined tendons of his forearms. People tended to overlook forearms, and I couldn’t understand why. They were damn sexy and, quite often, a good indicator of a perfectly formed body hiding beneath all that pesky clothing. 

His long legs were encased in charcoal-coloured trousers that, like his shirt, seemed tailored specifically for him, showing off the perfect curve of his arse, and I took a second to thank the gods that he’d spend most of the evening sitting on it so that I wouldn’t have to spend the evening reminding myself not to take another look. 

And his hair. Sweet Merlin, his goddamn hair. 

It was loose and tousled, as though he’d just woken up. Or just had a spectacular shag. And I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that I wanted nothing more than to run my hands through it while I dragged him back to his bed to muss it up even more. 

“Just a small peace offering for Potter,” Pansy soothed, wrapping her arms around Draco’s neck and kissing his cheek hello. “He deserves it.” 

She reached up and ruffled his hair affectionately and I about died of jealousy. 

“Well, if it’s a peace offering you’re after, Potter, I’ve got _loads_ on Pansy,” Draco assured me, smirking down at me, then making his way round the table to take the empty seat between Hermione and Ron.

“'Mione, Ron, Blaise,” he said, raising his pint glass to each of them in turn, then looking around the table with a grin. “Well, I dare say Hell has definitely frozen over.” 

It was the truth. Who would’ve ever guessed the six of us would be meeting for friendly pints on a Friday night? 

“Is everything ok with the… you know?” Hermione asked, and Draco nodded. 

“All under control,” he assured her. 

“You two just love it,” Blaise accused, glaring at the two of them good-naturedly. “I can’t talk about work, but let’s drop juicy hints anyway,” he teased. 

“Better than listening to you two complain about Auror duties,” Draco retorted, and I had to snigger at that. 

Ron loved nothing more than to complain about the physical demands of his job. 

As though being a professional Quidditch player were a walk in the park. 

“Speaking of careers, Parkinson, what is it that you do?” I asked, genuinely curious.

“I’m a solicitor,” she replied. “Hoping to be appointed to the Wizengamot in a few years,” she added. 

“I’ve told Draco a thousand times,” she continued, turning to Hermione, “to thank whoever it was in your Department that convinced our world that we needed to follow the Muggle tradition of due process. But just in case, could you be a dear and thank them, too?” 

“Hear, hear,” I agreed, raising my pint. 

I would have loved to have had legal counsel during my proceedings with the Wizengamot, and had been one of the most vocal supporters of adopting the Muggle practice when the Ministry had announced its intentions a few years back. 

“I’ve already told them several times that you’re forever indebted for allowing you to turn your aggravating habit of being an insufferable, nosy, busy-body into a career,” Draco assured her, earning himself a smack across the table from Pansy and a burst of laughter from Hermione. 

I suddenly had a sneaking suspicion as to who had been responsible for introducing the Muggle legal system to the Ministry. 

“Harry,” Blaise said suddenly, as though sensing danger and changing the topic as quickly as possible. “That was a brilliant game last match.” 

“Thanks,” I responded, not quite meeting Draco’s eye. 

That had been the last time I’d seen him.

When I’d left him on the brink of a spectacular orgasm before apparating home, and I was sure the bastard was going to retaliate somehow. 

Later that afternoon, we’d played a match against the Cannons that had lasted all but three minutes before I’d swooped in and caught the Snitch, setting a record. 

Definitely had nothing to do with the euphoric high I was on from an epic fuck session with a certain blond wizard. 

“That _was_ brilliant,” Draco agreed, taking a gulp from his pint. “Set a record, didn’t you?” 

I nodded, finishing off my own pint and wiping the foam from my lip with the back of my hand. 

“And to think, Harry almost didn’t get to play,” Ron sniggered.

Fuck. No. Ron. Just. No. 

Three pairs of eyes turned towards me with interest. 

_Fuck_. 

“Almost didn’t get to play?” Draco asked, blue-grey eyes positively sparkling with anticipation. “Why ever not, Potter?” 

There was no way he could possibly know. No fucking way. 

“It was nothing,” I lied, hoping to smooth the story away and move on. “Ron’s just got the emotional maturity of a thirteen-year-old and thinks idiotic things are funny.” 

Ron flipped me off but continued to snigger into his pint. 

“Too true,” Blaise agreed, and I breathed a premature sigh of relief. 

“Oy!” Ron protested, glaring at his partner, who continued without skipping a beat.

“I’m well aware, being his partner, and all, but,” Blaise turned his hazel gaze to Hermione, who was also giggling maniacally, “we all know Hermione’s as mature as they come, yet she’s over there giggling like a horny sixteen-year-old about to meet Alistair Fawley (Fawley was the newest wizarding pop sensation, taking the wizarding world by storm), so I’m inclined to overlook Ron’s emotional immaturity and agree that this _must_ be quite the story.” 

Blaise’s stare turned back to me as he finished his argument and he smiled a perfectly Slytherin smile.

“Spill it, Potter.” 

“Really, it was nothing,” I insisted, staring down at my empty pint, wondering if I’d be able to buy a second round and hope the conversation had passed by the time I got back. 

Grasping at straws, Potter, I told myself. 

“Coach just thought I’d taken ill, is all.” 

“Why would they think you’d taken ill?” Pansy demanded, eyes narrowing. “What sort of ill? What symptoms did you have?” 

I turned my head to stare at her incredulously. I’d thought Hermione’s questioning was intimidating. 

“Solicitor Parkinson,” Draco sing-songed from across the table, smirking over at me. 

“Blimey, Hermione,” Ron said, looking over at his wife with apprehension, “This Slytherin lot take questioning seriously.” 

He glanced back over at me and offered a small smile of apology, clearly not having understood what he was getting me into. 

“I’m waiting, Potter,” Pansy reminded me. 

“Had some trouble sitting on your broomstick?” Blaise joked, cackling to himself. 

“My _brilliant_ performance whilst sitting on said broomstick lays to rest any credibility for that statement, I’m sure,” I retorted, fixing Blaise with my most withering stare. 

“Oooh!” Blaise’s face was pure glee. “Snarky Potter! I _like_!” 

“Potter, quit trying to evade the subject,” Pansy barked. “Spill it. Now. Why did Coach think you were ill? I’m not letting this go.” 

“I’m going to go grab another round,” Ron said meekly, slipping away before I could decide to hex him, Hermione rising to help him carry.

And I was. I was going to hex his fucking balls off. 

“There was a bout of throat infection going round,” I muttered, defeated. 

Laughter erupted around the table, and I swear Malfoy’s brows nearly lifted right off his stupid forehead, his mouth dropping open, a look of utter glee dancing across his face.

Git. 

“Look! Christmas has come a second time around for Drakey-pooh!” Pansy giggled.

“Oh, it has!” he agreed, still looking at me in absolute delight. 

“So, you’re all up to speed, then?” Ron was back to sniggering with the rest of them as he and Hermione returned, setting fresh pints on the table.

“ _Drakey_ _-pooh?”_ I repeated, staring at Draco, amazed that Pansy was still standing after uttering such an endearing epithet.

“You can Drakey-pooh me all you want, Potter,” Draco’s shoulders were shaking with laughter. “It sounds so much _better_ coming from that pretty, apparently talented, mouth of yours.” 

Bastard. 

“Jealous, Malfoy?” I taunted and the rest of the table began to look at each other a bit worried, as though we might start hexing each other right there in the middle of a muggle pub. Not surprising, really, given our history. 

Malfoy merely chuckled and slung an arm over the back of his barstool, lifting his new pint to his lips.

“Hardly,” he assured me, eyes meeting mine. “I was actually being entertained in a similar manner that same day by a bloke with a mouth that I dare say rivals your own.” 

He smirked and raised an elegant eyebrow at me knowingly as he took another sip and I just about hexed the arsehole right there. 

“Potter,” Pansy’s voice called me back to the group. “Don’t think you’re getting off so easily.” 

I turned to stare at her, bewildered. This was getting off easy?

Draco and Blaise both pulled faces and looked at me sympathetically.

“Here’s the part where we actually feel sorry for you, Potter,” Blaise sighed and Draco raised his eyebrows in agreement as he stared down into his pint.

What in the name of sacred Hecate was going on? 

“What do you mean?” I demanded, looking frantically at Pansy. “I just _told_ you! You all know. What do you mean, getting off easily? This isn’t _easy_ , Pansy!” 

“Details, Potter,” Pansy said briskly. “We need details. All we know is your coach thought you’d caught a nasty throat infection.” 

I gawped at her, mouth opening and closing, looking quite like a goldfish, I was sure. 

“What the fuck else is there to know?” I demanded, honestly at a bit of a loss.

“Walk us through it,” Pansy continued. “You arrived at the stadium, having just thoroughly enjoyed yourself, apparently. Then what?” 

This could not be happening. 

Across the table, Draco was doing his best to quiet his laughter but was doing an absolute shite job, I might add.

“Draco, shut up,” Pansy barked, snapping her eyes over in his direction. “Don’t behave as though you haven’t been in Potter’s position more times than you can count and don’t think I don’t have a whole goddamned slew of your secrets I could spill across this table.” 

Draco sobered immediately and straightened up. 

“Sorry, Potter,” he muttered, not quite meeting my eye. 

I turned to Pansy in awe.

“Damn, Pansy,” I breathed. “I don’t know whether I love you or hate you,” I admitted. 

“It’s love, darling, I assure you,” she informed me, winking. “Now, continue. Who noticed first? What happened?” 

“Blimey, if I ever need a solicitor, I’m hiring you,” Ron sounded no less awestruck. 

“If you shut up and let Harry tell us his story, I might even give you the friend rate,” Parkinson shot back, still looking at me expectantly. 

“I don’t know,” I sighed. “I mean, we were in the locker room, and I don’t remember who it was, but some teammates thought… well, you know… thought I had a sore throat.” 

Draco couldn’t help collapsing in a fresh bout of giggles across the table.

“Draco,” Pansy warned.

He straightened again and shot her a pleading look, as though saying he couldn’t help himself, and I smirked to myself.

Pansy was clearly going to make sure Draco stayed in line. 

And I was _clearly_ going to make sure he didn’t. 

“Potter, continue,” she instructed, taking a large sip, eyes watching me as she did so.

“So they told me I should sit the match out ‘cause it was just the Cannons, sorry, Ron,” I said, automatically, knowing Ron’s feathers were ruffled without even looking. 

“To which you said?” 

“No.” Well, that part had been easy enough. 

“Why did you say no?” Blaise was laughing as well, but apparently this was allowed in Pansy’s book of rules. “I mean, they had a point, it was the Cannons. Robins surely could’ve handled himself!” 

I shrugged. I honestly had no idea why I’d insisted on playing, and was now, figuratively, kicking myself for being so goddamned stubborn. 

“So then what?” 

“They went and told Coach,” I replied, licking my lips slowly, hoping Draco was watching. I smiled to myself when I noticed him biting his lip out of the corner of my eye. 

“They all know I’m a stubborn arse,” I admitted, taking a sip of my pint, using it as an excuse to pull my bottom lip into my mouth, all the while gazing at Malfoy innocently. 

Malfoy very pointedly looked anywhere but at me, and I continued, celebrating my small victory silently. 

“So… Coach showed up, and agreed, and told me he was going to bench me.” 

“Merlin, Harry, how awful did you sound?” Blaise chuckled. 

“It was pretty bad, Harry,” Hermione answered for me, and I seriously regretted having talked to her or Ron that day. “You sounded _horrible_.” 

“Thanks, ‘Mione.”

She just grinned, not even having the decency to look remorseful. 

“Potter, did you seriously argue with your coach after that?” Malfoy looked incredulous. 

“I wanted to play,” I defended myself. “I was feeling good,” I added, almost as an afterthought. 

The table erupted in fresh sniggers and Blaise gasped out:

“The Boy Wonder, fuelled by a healthy dose of man juice!” 

“Ugh, Blaise,” I groaned. “That was _terrible_!” 

“But true,” Malfoy interjected, glancing over at Blaise and laughing. 

“Both of you need to shut up,” Pansy ordered. 

Draco, I noted, sobered immediately whereas Blaise continued to snigger, albeit more quietly. 

Clearly Pansy had some excellent dirt on Malfoy. 

“Pansy,” I said, keeping my gaze on Draco. “It seems you have quite the stash on Malfoy. Once I’m finished embarrassing myself here, I think it’s only fair you share something for my trouble.” 

“We’ll see,” she conceded. “But I _will_ say if only his Hogwarts four-poster could talk….” 

The look Draco gave her would have positively murdered a lesser witch, but Pansy seemed as though she hadn’t even noticed. 

“Not just his four-poster,” Blaise groaned. “We all shared a flat just after the war and this one here _always_ forgot to put up a silencing charm.” He shuddered dramatically. 

“You could have just as easily put one up,” Draco shot back, draining his pint. “That’s on you, Blaise.” 

“Draco has a decidedly _filthy_ mouth,” Pansy informed Hermione, Ron, and I, as though letting us in on a secret. 

“You don’t say,” I responded mildly. That was putting it lightly.

“Some blokes seem to _love_ it,” he responded, shrugging, grey-blue eyes slanting in my direction. 

“So, Coach says you’re not playing, you, being the head-strong, stubborn git that you are, kept insisting that you are,” Pansy summarised. I nodded. “You’re not finished with this story until you tell us how you convinced the team to let you play.” 

I groaned and downed the rest of my pint. 

“I need a refill,” I insisted, raising the empty glass and waving it in Pansy’s face expectantly. 

“Right,” she agreed. “But don’t think I’m going to forget and let you slide, Potter.” 

Pansy rose from her seat and looked at the others expectantly.

“Pints all around?” 

Everyone nodded and Pansy strode off towards the bar.

“Merlin, she’s terrifying,” Ron informed us all in an exaggerated whisper. 

“You’ve no idea,” Draco agreed, glancing over his shoulder at Pansy as she ordered with the barman.

He stood suddenly and began walking towards the bar where he sidled up to Pansy. 

“Draco and Pans have always had a very weird, very close relationship,” Blaise informed us all. 

“Is she really going to make me tell every gory detail of this story?” I whinged, and Blaise chuckled.

“Yes,” he sighed, smiling ruefully. “A word of advice, Harry. Make it easier on yourself and just wrap the story up, with all the details. It’s like a plaster. Don’t peel it back slowly, just rip it off.” 

“Right,” I nodded, as Pansy and Draco returned with the pints. 

“Here you are, Potter,” Pansy purred, setting my new pint before me. 

“Thanks, Pans, you’re a doll,” I drawled sarcastically.

“I know,” she said, waving a hand carelessly in my direction. “Now finish this wonderful story. I _do_ love how we’re all bonding, don’t you?” 

I stuck my tongue out at her and took a sip of my pint before resigning myself to continue. 

“Ugh. I can’t believe I’m telling you all this,” I sighed.

“Really, mate, you didn’t even tell _us_ this part,” Ron reminded me. 

“What? How are you even friends?” Malfoy gasped in mock shock, clutching a hand to his heart. 

“Shut. Up.” Pansy scowled at us all before turning to me and smiling. “Go ahead, Potter.” 

“So Coach called the team Medi-Wizard to have a look at me,” I continued, cringing at the memory of Dickerson examining me. 

“What? Harry!” Hermione squealed, clutching Draco’s arm in anticipation. “Why didn’t you tell us this? That’s hys _ter_ ical! What did he say?” 

“…” 

“Spill it, Potter,” Pansy reminded me. 

“He said…” I began, already feeling the blush rising up my cheeks. “Hesaidmythroatlookedredandraw,” I mumbled, taking another sip of my pint.

“I’m sorry, what was that, Potter?” Draco demanded, looking as though Christmas had come round for a third time this year. 

“Yes, Potter, really,” Pansy agreed. “I don’t think any of us quite caught that.” 

“He. Said. My. Throat. Looked. Red. And. Raw,” I ground out, enunciating each word clearly, burying my head in my hands as the rest of them collapsed into giggles. 

“Potter!” Blaise gasped, reaching over to pat me on the back. “Sweet Merlin, that’s the best thing I’ve heard in ages! Seriously, I think you love cock more than Draco!” 

Draco snorted.

“I just know when to pull off and save some treat for next time,” he countered, taking a sip of his own pint and wiping his mouth daintily. “Really, Potter, didn’t your fuckboy even _try_ to look out for you and tell you to leave off?” 

Bastard.

He had, I remembered all too clearly. 

My face, apparently, let everyone else know the answer as well if their fresh bout of laughter was anything to go by. 

_“Careful, Potter,” Draco had cautioned as I slid down, swallowing that beautiful cock yet again. “You’re not going to be able to talk if you keep that up.”_

_I couldn’t have cared less._

_I'd continued to swallow and suck at Draco’s cock, finally releasing it reluctantly._

_“Why don’t you let me worry about that, Malfoy?” I'd sighed, mouthing and kissing along the side of his length as I did so before allowing myself to suck him all the way down to the hilt once more._

It really was my fault, I conceded, consoling myself with another sip of beer. 

“Are you kidding me?” Blaise squawked. “If I had someone gagging for my cock that badly _I_ certainly wouldn’t tell them to stop.” 

"Trust me, Blaise,” I smirked over at him. “There was no gagging involved.” 

“So, let me get this straight, Harry,” Hermione shook her head as though to clear it. “Your teammates thought you’d caught a throat infection, you insisted you were fine. Then Coach came, and agreed,” she was ticking these off on her fingers, in true Hermione fashion. “Then the team Medi-Wizard showed, all but confirming their suspicions… and you… still insisted on playing?” 

“Stubborn git,” Malfoy chided softly, eyes watching me carefully from over the rim of his pint as he took another sip. 

“I told him I was sure he’d never encountered anything quite like this in his career as a Quidditch Medi-Wizard, but that I was _fine_. Quite wonderful, actually, and that I was perfectly fit to play the match,” I admitted, cringing again at the shocked look on Dickerson’s face as he’d realised what I was implying. 

“Potter,” I glanced over at Pansy who was gazing at me with absolute admiration in her eyes. “You are, beyond doubt, my new favourite person ever. Quit your whinging, Draco, you know you’re grandfathered in,” she added, not skipping a beat or even looking in Draco’s direction. 

“I didn’t say anything!” Draco protested.

“I know, darling, but I could hear you screeching your discontent in my head,” Pansy informed him, turning to look at him and giving him a genuine smile. 

“Potter,” Pansy’s attention was back on me. “When did you come out? I know you were married to Ginny for years. The Prophet made sure everyone knew about that and the divorce,” she added, glancing at Ron. 

“Harry’s complexion didn’t match the red beard,” Ron roared, bungling his stellar joke a bit this many pints in, but it got the point across and we all laughed. 

“Wait, what?” Blaise gasped. “You both knew the other was queer?” 

“Of course,” I replied. “We sort of figured it out together.” 

"How do you mean, exactly?” Draco asked, frowning. “That just sounds horribly awkward and uncomfortable,” he added. 

“It was,” I admitted.

“Ooh! Harry!” Hermione squealed suddenly, and we all turned to look at her. “It’s our song!” 

Sure enough, I could hear the strains of “None of Your Business” by Salt-n-Pepa blaring from the speakers and I stood on the foot bar of my barstool as did Hermione and we began to dance and sing:

“If I wanna take a guy home with me tonight, it’s none of your business!” 

I’d discovered hip-hop as a teenager when I’d overheard Aunt Petunia and one of the neighbours complaining about this “horrid rap music” that was destroying the youth and, as an act of rebellion, had committed myself to learn all I could about this wonderful genre. 

Turns out, I actually liked it. 

And, in retrospect, the fact that I’d spent countless afternoons during my summers home dancing around my room to this particular song, it’s pretty sad it took me so long to figure out I was gay as could be. 

I’d been just as surprised that Hermione, apparently, loved the genre, and this song, as well. 

Hermione and I noticed that we were the only ones at our table dancing enthusiastically and we sat down quickly. 

“Wow,” Blaise broke the silence first. “What is this song?” 

“It’s what I’m going to write, verbatim, to the prophet once they figure out I’m bent,” I drawled. 

The group paused to listen attentively the lyrics:

_What's the matter with your life?  
_ _Why you gotta mess with mine?  
_ _Don't keep sweatin' what I do  
_ _'Cause I'm gonna be just fine._

_If I wanna taka guy home with me tonight  
It's none of your business  
And if she want to be a freak and sell it on the weekend  
It's none of your business_

_Now you shouldn't even get into who I'm givn' skins to  
It's none of your business  
So don't try to change my mind, I'll tell you one more time  
It's none of your business_

“Please do, Potter,” Blaise grinned over at me. “Write it to the Prophet. That’d be bloody epic.” 

“Consider it done,” I assured him, raising my arms over my head to continue dancing shamelessly in my seat. 

I nearly jumped when I felt a pair of hands gently brush my sides, just below my shoulder blades, and continue smoothing down my sides, coming to rest on my hips, a foreign cheek nuzzling against my own, and a smooth, deep voice in my ear.

“Sorry if I’m being forward, Luv, but _damn_.” 

I spun around to see an absolutely delicious man standing behind me.

Dark, chocolate-brown eyes twinkled at me from beneath a thick fringe of lashes. My eyes dropped to his arms, noting the well-defined forearms, snug-fitting black v-neck, and jeans that left little to the imagination. 

“Name’s Tristan,” he added, grinning lazily. 

Well, hello, Tristan, I thought, smirking down at him as I sank back into my seat, wrapping my arms around his neck.

“Hullo, Tristan,” I purred, pulling him close. “I’m Harry.” 

“Hi, Harry,” he replied, leaning in to brush his lips against mine. 

I was vaguely aware of five pairs of eyes on the two of us and had a brief flicker of worry that Draco would positively hex the bollocks off of Tristan, but I threw caution to the wind and leaned into his kiss, slipping my tongue briefly into his mouth before pulling away. 

“Care to take me back to yours?” I murmured, and he grinned.

“I’d be silly not to,” he replied, then, as though just noticing my mates, he pulled away and offered them a sheepish grin

“Sorry, hope you don’t mind I’m taking your Harry away from the party early,” he apologised. 

“By all means,” Draco’s drawl could have cut through ice. “He’s clearly of more use to you than any of us.” 

Tristan looked slightly taken aback, and I rolled my eyes.

“Don’t mind him,” I assured Tristan, running my hands up his arms to soothe him. “Draco pretends to breathe fire, but he’s quite harmless.” 

Draco smirked as he raised his pint to his lips, sliding his gaze over to Tristan and winking at him, almost good-naturedly. 

“Right. Erm. Shall we?” 

“We shall,” I agreed, turning to wave at my table of mates, both new and old, then allowed Tristan to lead me from the pub and into the street outside. 


	9. Not All Dragons Breathe Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pansy's POV. 
> 
> Pansy muses on the evening's events before she and Blaise apparate over to Draco's flat to console him.

_Later That Evening_

_Pansy’s_ _POV_

The evening was going spectacularly.

Call me surprised. I had only agreed to come because I was sure it would end in disaster.

Hullo, my name is Pansy, and I'm an addict for all things dramatic. 

On the contrary, I was truly enjoying myself and had fast-tracked Potter to my “besties” list because, well. He was positively _fantastic_.

Had Draco somehow known what a foul-mouthed, uninhibited slut Potter was all along? 

I had never understood his obsession with the Boy Wonder at school. 

He’d been a sad, scrawny thing, swimming in his clothes, sporting those ridiculous round glasses that were always either falling off or broken. And we were supposed to believe that this tiny child was going to deliver us from the Dark Lord?

I would never have guessed, a decade or so later, that I’d be grilling him about his sex life, much less watching him gyrate shamelessly to a rap song about taking a bloke home for the evening. 

Unfortunately, this was also where the evening went sour. 

That muggle bloke had appeared, practically out of nowhere, putting his filthy muggle hands all over Harry, and I had sensed Draco’s magic begin to spiral out of control almost immediately. That alarmed me. Feeling Draco’s magic. 

It was subtle; Draco’s magic always had been, but then he’d had to learn how to make it all but undetectable for work. 

Don’t ask me what that boy did as an Unspeakable to require that level of secrecy.

But I remember him laughing gleefully, eyes glinting impishly as he would play pranks on Blaise and me, sometimes even going so far as to rifle casually through our minds, showing off his wandless magic and ability to do any number of hexes and charms without leaving so much as a trace. 

When Harry had actually decided to go home with that idiot, I’d been surprised they’d made it out the door without Draco hexing him with all manner of horrid maledictions.

“Well,” I murmured, eyes still on the entrance to the pub where Harry and this Tristan bloke had just exited. “I had no _idea_ Harry was such a little tramp.” 

Hermione smiled ruefully and took a sip of her pint, she and the redhead seemingly unaware of the imminent danger from the positively simmering dragon sitting between them. 

“He’s certainly been making up for lost time,” Hermione disclosed, almost affectionately. Bless her.

The lights in the pub flickered suddenly, and I snapped my gaze over to Draco. I didn’t even need to look to know Blaise had done the same. 

I had to hand it to him. If anyone could manage to look nonchalant and completely unaffected while so upset, it was Draco. 

Even now, he was grinning over at Hermione, leaning closer in her direction to say:

“Aren’t we all, Granger?” 

He managed to wink cheekily as he took another sip of his pint, even while the lights in the pub puttered out completely for several seconds, and the surrounding muggles began to complain about the rolling blackouts. 

“Have you all heard about that crazy app that’s appearing on our phones?” Blaise asked suddenly, clearly trying to change the subject. 

“The one that mimics the Mirror of Erised?” I asked. I’d heard some senior members of the Wizengamot discussing it and was curious to know more. 

It was clearly being run by a circle of Dark wizards and had the potential to wreak havoc on our world. Not quite Voldemort havoc, mind, but havoc, all the same.

“Yeah,” Ron jumped in, nodding enthusiastically. “Blaise and I have been assigned to investigate. Gnarly stuff happening to the witches and wizards who’re being targeted, but we still have no idea who's behind it and why they’re doing it.”

Draco and Hermione exchanged glances. 

“We’re aware,” Draco said, noncommittally. 

Shit. If they were involved, this was even bigger than I’d imagined. 

“They tried to rob Gringott’s and even staged an attack on Shacklebot,” Blaise continued. 

“ _What_?!” I couldn’t believe the Ministry had managed to keep this out of the Prophet. “And no one knows anything about what’s behind it?” 

“Nothing concrete,” Hermione shrugged. 

“The Mirror makes you see your dreams, right?” I’d heard about it but wasn’t entirely sure of the details.

“Sort of,” Draco conceded, and I could feel his magic begin to settle.

I sent Blaise a silent thank you for changing the subject so effectively. There was nothing our boy Draco loved more than a long-winded, intellectual discussion.

Perfect, really, that he and Hermione were partners. 

“It shows what your _heart_ desires the most in the entire world, so it could be a dream, or goal, yes, but it could also just be a longing or lovesick desire. Actual dreams and goals are more linked to the brain and so they can be controlled a bit more by the individual.”

“The heart,” Hermione took up right where Draco left off, “is its own beast and can lead an individual to do things he or she would never _think_ to do. You know, Pansy,” she turned to look at me, “like a crime committed in a fit of passion as opposed to one that is calculated and thought-out.” 

“But then the brain’s worse,” Ron interjected. “The punishment is always worse if they can prove you planned it out.” 

“No,” Blaise said, glancing at Draco and Hermione. “It means that there’s a “brain” controlling individuals via their hearts.” 

Draco nodded.

“A whole host of individuals acting on feeling and devotion, answering to an individual or organisation who’s taken the time to plan this out and think it through.” 

“Fuck,” Blaise muttered. “If that doesn’t sound familiar.” He glanced over at Ron and grinned, raising his pint. “Looks like we’re going to be putting in some long hours, mate.” 

Ron clinked his glass to Blaise’s then looked over at Hermione.”

“Sorry, ‘Mione,” he said. “Looks like you’ll be home alone most nights these next few weeks.” 

She shrugged.

“Honesty, I think we’re all going to be putting in extra hours these next few weeks, possibly months, with this case.”

“Speaking of which,” Draco cut in, draining the rest of his pint. “I’ve got to run. More research.” 

He nodded to each of us, then headed out the door, and it was all I could do not to look at Blaise. 

Instead, I forced myself to continue the conversation with Ron and Hermione, until they also decided to call it a night.

I turned to Blaise as soon as the door had shut behind them, and he nodded.

***

“Draco?” I called as soon as we’d apparated to his flat.

It was a disaster. 

Draco’s dining table was broken straight across the middle, as though a giant had decided to practice a deft karate chop down the middle.

Broken plates and glasses littered the floor and the lights were out. 

I peered through the darkness and could just make out Draco’s silvery hair hovering over one of his couches across the reception.

“Draco, Luv,” I sighed, carefully picking my way across the room, casting a Lumos with my wand to light my way. 

“Go away,” he muttered.

I heard more glass shattering behind me and turned to see Draco’s expensive stemware whirling back together only to smash dramatically against the wall. 

Draco had always been fond of breaking and re-breaking objects when he was upset.

Of course, back at Hogwarts, he’d needed his wand and his Reparo skills were definitely not what they were now. I smiled fondly, thinking of all the lumpily repaired items, oftentimes with pieces missing, that would litter the Slytherin common room following one of Draco’s outbreaks. 

"That was a right shitty thing Potter did,” Blaise announced, striding across the room, boots crunching on bits of broken glass as he did so. 

He sat next to Draco and slung an arm around his shoulders. 

Draco didn’t say anything. Just kept repairing and breaking the items strewn about his reception and dining room at random. 

“Right,” I agreed, sitting on Draco’s other side, tucking my legs up and curling into him. “Potter’s a horrible slut.”

Next second my entire body was stinging from the effects of a stinging jinx, and I shoved at Draco half-heartedly. 

“Don’t hex me,” I grumbled. “I’m on your side.” 

“Yeah, and now that we’ve proven we can all hang out and have a good laugh together, I’m sure we’ll be hanging out all the time,” Blaise reasoned. “You can run your little paws all over him and feel him up a bit before dragging him back to yours next time he decides to show off his dancing skills.” 

The surge of magic that blasted through the room at that comment was positively mind-boggling, and I turned to stare at my best friend in a mixture of awe and fear as the windows in the reception exploded and all the lights flashed, bright as could be, before exploding, sending us back into darkness again. 

Outside, I could see the lights in the neighbouring buildings also flicker out. 

Our sensitive, little dragon was a wee bit upset, it would appear. 

And sweet Hecate, was he sensitive.

I didn’t think I knew anyone who was quite as sensitive as Draco. 

Of course, he hid it spectacularly. Had those walls of his built up, the exterior disdainful sneer nearly permanent and a plethora of snide comments always at the ready. 

Honestly, I was pretty sure Blaise and I were the only two people outside of his mum who had any idea. 

“Draco, darling,” I began, cautiously. 

One must always use caution when dealing with dragons. 

“Blaise does have a point, even if he’s rubbish at stating it tactfully.” 

Another stinging jinx. Bastard. 

“I only meant that maybe you should ask him out for a round. Honestly, Draco, I know you’re gutted but _please_ stop stinging me.” 

“I rather think he made it clear what his answer would be,” Draco snarled, sending one of his table lamps at the wall. 

“Draco, you’re overreacting. It’s not as though you've made a pass at him, or anything,” Blaise reasoned, waving his wand and casting a quick accio. 

He held his hand out and a bottle of Ogden’s flew into it.

He set the bottle down, accioed again, and held out his hand to catch the three glasses that followed in quick succession. 

Draco snorted and the lights in the flat switched on. 

Outside, I saw the neighbouring lights flicker on as well. 

“Right,” he muttered, pouring us all a generous serving. 

“I didn’t know you still had a thing for him,” Blaise observed, taking a sip, and I just about murdered the ignorant arse with my eyes. “I mean, I know you were all but obsessed at Hogwarts but that was ages ago.” 

“Shut up, Blaise,” Draco snapped, taking a sip of his own whisky and I sighed a breath of relief. 

“I’m surprised you didn’t hex that idiot on their way out,” Blaise continued and I all but lost my mind at his stupidity. 

“I thought about it,” he admitted, still sipping his drink. 

“Why didn’t you?” I asked, finally allowing myself to enjoy my whisky.

Draco snorted again and swirled his glass.

“And let Saint Potter play the hero? Are you _kidding_ me, Pans?” 

I giggled, allowing myself to envision the scene. 

“Good point, Luv,” I sighed, taking another sip, crisis, apparently, averted. 

“What’s this?” Blaise asked suddenly, grabbing Draco’s phone off the table.

I instantly recognised the Pensieve app. 

It had immediately made a hit within the Wizarding world a few years ago when it had been released. 

Instead of carrying around a bulky Pensieve, witches and wizards could now store their memories in a convenient app, sync-able through the Wizard cloud, obviously. 

Blaise and I stared in astonishment as the particular memory in question showed Harry Fucking Potter on his knees all but swallowing Draco’s cock, eyes closed, looking for all the world as though he’d just landed on Heaven’s doorstep. 

It was only half a second, but the image was quite seared to my brain and I turned to stare at Draco, jaw dropped. Blaise, I noted, did likewise. 

“Draco,” I whispered.

“Draco,” Blaise’s voice was nearly a shadow of my own. 

“What the bloody fuck do you two think you’re doing?!” he shouted, grabbing the device from Blaise’s hand, spinning round to face us, lights flickering dangerously once more.

I heard the distant pop of glass breaking and knew that most of Draco’s Reparo-ed stemware had shattered once again. 

“Draco,” Blaise said again, hands up in protest, “what was that?” 

Draco threw him a patented Malfoy glare, and I could barely keep from rolling my eyes. 

Really, it was perfectly obvious what that was. 

“Get. Out.” 

“Draco,” I protested. “When… what… how?”

“Did you not hear me,” he snapped. “Get the fuck out of my flat. Now.” 

“What are you thinking?”

“ _Are_ you thinking?” I said it without thinking. 

That was a mistake.

“GET. OUT!” Draco positively shrieked, wand suddenly in hand, pointed at our faces. 

Blaise and I rose. 

We both knew better than to question Draco when he was like this. 

“I can’t believe you’d violate my privacy like that you fucking arseholes!” The wand swished, and Blaise and I jumped up and out of the way, managing to escape whatever nasty hex Draco had just sent our way.

No matter. 

He continued to advance on us, screaming obscenities and raging about how we’d broken his trust, all the while throwing a barrage of hexes our way.

I doubted even Potter could throw hexes as rapidly and accurately as Draco could, all whilst yelling and working himself into a right mess, mind. 

Thank Merlin Blaise was an Auror and managed to throw up a protective shield as we retreated. 

“Draco!” he shouted. “Stop, come on! No one’s judging you! Fuck, stop!” 

Blaise gave a yelp as one of Draco’s hexes pierced his shield and his wand clattered to the floor. 

This was not going well. 

“Draco,” I tried.

He merely snarled and threw another hex, this time hitting us with absolutely perfectly executed tripping jinx that had us both sprawled across the floor. 

Draco continued to advance, eyes wild, curses raining around us like wildfire, then suddenly everything went blank.

_***_

_Seconds Later_

“Draco?” I called, stepping into his flat, Blaise at my side.

I shook my head, shaking away the slightly dizzy feeling that had accompanied this particular apparition. 

We’d just apparated to his flat following stupid Potter’s disastrous departure with that awful Muggle. 

“You alright, Draco?” Blaise blinked and shook his head, obviously also feeling woozy after apparating.

Clearly we were both too old to be Apparating after a few pints.

Draco appeared out of the hallway leading to his bedroom, smiling at us bemusedly.

“Of course I’m alright,” he grinned, sending the giant tome in his hand over towards his dining table as he held his arms out to embrace us each in turn. 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” 

He sauntered over to the loveseat flanking one side of his table and motioned for us to join him. 

Seconds later, a bottle of Ogden’s and three glasses zoomed to the table and settled themselves neatly before us. 

“Well, Potter,” Blaise managed before Draco cut him off with a wave of his hand.

“Potter?” he laughed. “That was years ago, Blaise. Let that Tristan bloke have his fun.” 

“I was sure you were going to hex the actual dick off of that bloke,” Blaise admitted.

Draco rolled his eyes as he poured us each a glass of Ogden’s.

“What, and give Potter another excuse to play saviour?” he asked, eyes widening incredulously, as he raised his glass in a toast to the both of us. 

I sighed in relief and took a sip from my proffered glass, glancing around Draco’s flat. 

I loved Draco’s flat. It was perfectly decorated and always spotless. 

I started as Blaise gasped. 

He had also taken a sip of his drink, but he’d pulled back, frowning. 

“You need to buy some new glasses,” he informed Draco, rubbing his lip, which was bleeding slightly. “You’ve got a chip in this one.” 

“Sorry,” Draco winced in sympathy, waving a hand to cure Blaise’s lip. “Accidents happen.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. FEAR NOT! Tristan reappears in the next chapter.  
> 2\. Yes. Draco has just obliviated his mates.


	10. The Call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the second half of Chapter One, Introitus, if you want to read it "together" as an unbroken chapter.  
> I did include the last few lines of that chapter in italics if you don't feel like going back and reading it. 
> 
> As always, enjoy!

_Friday Evening_

_21 August 2009_

_Harry's POV_

_I ambled around for a bit, seeing at it was still pretty early. Only half-ten. Then, having walked aimlessly for what seemed an exorbitant amount of time, but which was, in all reality, only five minutes, I did what any normal, sloshed, slightly horny bloke would do._

_I called another bloke._

_“_ Hello?”

“Draco?”

“Harry?” I was, at this point, realising that this probably hadn’t been my brightest idea, seeing as the last time I’d seen him, I’d left with another bloke. 

And the time before that, I’d left him mid-blow job. 

And now, here I was, calling him after just having left yet another bloke. 

Honestly, I’d been determined to slut it up in an effort to forget Draco.

Forget his perfect cock, and his perfect face, with its perfect smile, and those stupid blue-grey eyes and the way they sparkled when he was laughing. 

Forget his voice and the way he could command me to do anything he wanted. 

Forget how beautiful he was when he let that Malfoy façade drop. 

“Why are you calling me? Where are you?”

“Inna street.” I purposely didn’t answer the first question.

“You don’t say, Luv. Which one?” Good question.

“Erm....” I glanced around, realising that I was in the middle of the street and, therefore, had no signs to help me out. 

Draco was laughing now.

“Let me rephrase that. Can you find your way to mine? I'll send the address. Don’t even try to apparate in your state.”

“Think so....”

“Alright. I’ll wait for you here, then.” He paused. “How long do you think you’ll be?”

“Erm...” 

The laughter at my expense, it seemed, would never stop. 

Luckily, it seemed to be of the amused and kind sort, as opposed to the amused and mean sort.

“Alright, then. I’ll just put the kettle on and have a cuppa waiting for you when you get here.”

“Mmm...soundsnice,” I slurred. 

“Start walking,” he instructed, as though he somehow knew I’d stopped mid-stride whilst drooling over the thought of a strong cuppa. 

And a stroopwafel, maybe. 

I nearly began drooling, remembering the gooey, caramelly, treat melted over that cup of coffee, and I was hoping he’d think to top my cuppa with one.

“Yeah. Coming.”

It took me only about twenty minutes to get to his flat, located in Mayfair because of _course_ Draco lived in Mayfair. On Park Lane, bordering Hyde Park, no less. 

I entered the building, thanking Merlin that it had a lift, and knocked loudly on his door. He answered, a glass of something dark and frothy in hand.

“Wassat?” I asked, indicating the glass.

“A pint,” he replied, shutting the door behind me. “I figured I had some catching up to do,” he added, winking.

“Well...’s gon’ take a lot more’n _that,”_ I informed him, waving my hand at his glass. 

He raised his brows and watched me make my way across the reception.

“Yes, I can see that.”

I sprawled out on his sofa while Draco went off, presumably to the kitchen for the promised cuppa. 

He appeared a bit later, sipping his pint and holding a steaming mug in the other hand.

“'M sorry,” I told him earnestly, watching as he set the mug down on the coffee table then sat on the floor between it and the couch.

“Don’t be,” he replied, shrugging. “It’s not like I’ve never been sloshed myself.” 

I turned my head to look at him. 

Our eyes were about level, and he seemed sincere. 

He smiled again and reached out to brush some hair from my forehead.

“Rough night?” I nodded and leaned into his caress like an attention-starved kitten.

“Mm-hmmm.” 

His hand continued its path from my forehead, through my hair, the fingers curling themselves through my tangled locks, following the contour of my head, down my neck. Then back up to repeat the cycle.

“Did you want to talk about it?” He paused for one full cycle. “Or did you just want to banish it to the dregs of your memory?”

“Mmmm...” It seemed to be the only sound I could muster, having now progressed to that stage of drunkenness where consciousness was barely a reality.

“Mmm it is, then,” Draco responded and I could hear the grin in his voice. 

I snapped my eyes open and tried my best to look at him steadily.

“'M really sorry, y’know... fer callin’ you like this.” 

Draco’s hand was still making its rounds and my eyes drifted shut again.

I was startled out of my peaceful murmurings by Draco tugging me upright.

“Come on. Drink your tea.”

“Don’ wanna,” I informed him, shaking my head petulantly. 

Draco rolled his eyes and held the mug up to me.

“You’ll have wanted to come morning,” he drawled, taking hold of my hand that was clutching the edge of the cushion. 

“Now come on, drink up.” 

I looked down at him, sitting on the ground before me and once again, allowed my drunken brain to take control.

“You’re bloody _gorgeous.”_

I knew, even in my drunken state, that this was not something I necessarily wanted to be saying aloud. 

Draco merely shoved the tea into my face again. He was still holding my hand, which I took to be a good sign.

“You’re bloody sloshed,” he countered.

“Yeh,” I agreed, relenting and taking a sip of tea. “But we both ‘lready knew that.”

Draco raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, and we both already knew the former. Now hush and drink your tea.” 

This made me sort of laugh, and I struggled to keep my mouthful of tea.

“Cocky bastard,” I managed to rasp out.

“Yes, and you love it,” he winked. 

He moved so that he was sitting beside me on the sofa and I turned so that I could study his face, more specifically, his mouth, at close range.

“If I wern’t drunk, I’d kiss you,” I blurted out, again, spewing forth such gems that I would have most likely rather kept hidden. 

Draco, thankfully, found this to be extremely amusing as he nearly doubled over in laughter.

“Oh, no,” he gasped out, sitting up and relaxing into the plush sofa. “You wouldn’t want to sully this pristine mouth in your current state.” 

I suspected he was joking but didn’t get the joke. 

I told him so, which earned me a strange look.

“Come on.” He stood suddenly and spun to face me, grabbing my hands and hoisting me up. 

“Off to bed for you.” 

I was lost, immediately, in his grey eyes, with their threads of light blue and green, sparkling as he grinned down at me, and found myself grinning in return. 

“Where you can sober up and then, _maybe_ , kiss me silly tomorrow.” 

He leaned forward and brushed his lips across mine, despite what he’d just said, and I leaned in eagerly. 

Hell if I was going to remind him that said kissing would come tomorrow. 

He broke away before I could actually latch onto him and my alcohol-sodden brain finally caught up to what was going on.

“I’m sleeping here?”

Draco was halfway across the room at this point, and he turned to look at me.

“I have a guest room, Potter,” he reminded me, and my mood sank a bit. 

“Oh. Right.”

I shuffled my way across the room and Draco grabbed my hand, turning so as to better drag me down the hall to that door on the far right.

He pushed it open, pulling me into the empty room.

It was cosy, a large bed covered with pillows and a fluffy duvet taking up the majority of the space, set facing a window overlooking the brick buildings opposite. 

A small desk and chest of drawers sat just beneath the windows and a TV was hung from an adjustable wall mount in the corner, angled toward the bed. 

“Put those on. You’ll be more comfortable.” 

Draco threw a pair of striped pyjama bottoms at me. 

Since I was drunk, I did not catch them. 

I didn’t even try. Just stooped over to grab them up and concentrated on getting myself out of my clothes for the second time that evening.

He left the room without saying a word, leaving me to my struggle and wondering what the hell he was up to.

By the time he returned, I’d only just managed to get myself into the pyjamas and had flung myself down on the bed. 

He was carrying a glass of liquid. A big one which he set on the nightstand beside me.

“It’s a hangover potion,” he clarified, and I thanked the gods that Draco had always been much more gifted at potions than I’d ever been. 

“Do you think you’ll be ok, or should I get a dustbin?” 

I shook my head, then realised this didn’t quite answer his question.

“I’ll be fine. Thanks.” 

I sat up and gulped the potion down, making a face as I braced myself for the taste.

"Mmm," I said, blinking up at him in surprise. "That actually tastes _good_." 

I finished the potion and began to curl up on the bed, but Draco reached down to tug me upright again.

“Wha?” I’d been comfortable and already drifting off.

“Let’s at least pull the covers down, Harry,” he soothed, pulling me into his arms. 

“Mmm-k,” I sighed, snuggling into his chest, breathing in the now-familiar scent of him. 

Draco pulled away, moving to pull the duvet and sheets back. 

He tugged at my hand, pulling me towards him, laying me gently on the mattress, pulling the covers up to my chest. 

I reached up, automatically wrapping my arms around his neck, trying to pull him towards me, but he resisted, one hand reaching up to remove first one arm, then the other. 

“Bed, Harry,” he ordered, eyes not quite meeting mine.

“Snuggle me,” I insisted, flipping over onto my side, still gazing up at him. 

He didn’t respond immediately, throat working, eyes still not quite meeting mine. 

“I think you’ve rather had enough snuggling with some other bloke tonight, Harry,” he said finally, standing, and striding from the room. 


	11. After the Call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco can't concentrate at work and an exasperated Hermione insists on a lunch break.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The "Medusa's Raft" Draco references is based on the painting "Le Radeau de Méduse" or "The Raft of Medusa" by Géricault (definitely worth seeking out if you're ever at the Louvre!) 
> 
> I don't think I can link anything into the summary, but google it if you're interested in something more in-depth.  
> Basically, a French warship went down, and several soldiers clung to a raft, hoping for rescue.  
> The painting depicts several of them on a raft, hailing another ship they see far in the distance (so far in the distance that on many copies or screen icons, you can't even see the other ship) showing how slim their chances of rescue were and that they were doomed to surrender to the ocean tides.  
> It's this feeling of hopeless acceptance that I'm "channelling" for our poor Draco here.

_Saturday Afternoon_

22 _August 2009_

_Draco's POV_

This Potter business was getting out of control.

Who was I kidding?

When had it ever been _in_ control?

One minute, you’re enjoying an excellent fuck with your schoolboy crush, next you’re spiralling madly, obliviating your mates and wondering why you hadn’t taken the time to hex a fairly innocent muggle who’d had the misfortune of pulling him. 

Oh. 

And said crush was currently soundly asleep at your flat because he’d had the damned nerve to call you after fucking another bloke and you were too much of a hippogriff shit to tell him no. 

“Draco,” Hermione sounded a tad exasperated, and I didn’t blame her. 

We were at work, after all, trying to find any leads on this Mirror of Erised case and here I was, staring off into the distance, being absolutely no help at all. 

A drug, I tell you. Potter was a drug. 

And I really needed a fix. 

It had taken all my willpower not to give in to him last night.

When he’d shown up at my bloody flat, sloshed as could be, clearly having come from another bloke’s place, the fucking _nerve_ of him. 

He’d reached up, wrapping his arms around me, and it would have been so easy to lean into him. 

To allow myself to be surrounded by him, ply his sweet mouth with kisses and fuck him into that mattress, obliterating all thought of those other blokes. 

Instead, I’d steeled my resolve and forced myself to leave his side, heading straight to bed, regretting the morning, when we would have to talk about it. 

Obviously, I’d been relieved when the work summons had come in early Saturday morning, ensuring I was long gone before he’d awoke next morning so that I wouldn’t have to face him. 

Or the fact that I, apparently, was ok with taking another bloke’s leftovers. 

“Sorry, ‘Mione,” I sighed, picking up my research papers. “I’m no help today.” 

“Clearly,” she agreed, shuffling her own papers into a neat pile. “What do you say we go have lunch? I’m ready for a break, too.” 

I smiled gratefully and nodded in agreement. 

“Yes, that’d be wonderful.” 

***

Thirty minutes later, Hermione and I were seated at a table in St. John Bread & Wine, one of her favourites in muggle London.

A cursory view of the menu showed me why.

Classic British fare made from fresh ingredients served up in a bright, unstuffy atmosphere. 

Food for foodies without being pretentious.

My father would have absolutely _hated_ it.

I’d already decided on the Welsh rarebit with a side salad, having always been the sort who decided exactly what I wanted to eat the moment my eyes glanced at the menu.

“Anything you’d care to talk about?” Hermione asked, setting her menu aside, her warm brown eyes searching mine.

I allowed myself a brief reverie of her reaction should I spill everything regarding Harry and me.

Instead, I decided to go another route.

“Would you ever consider obliviating someone you cared for?”

I was still berating myself over what I’d done to Pansy and Blaise.

“Absolutely,” Hermione replied without a moment’s hesitation and I stared at her, completely flabbergasted.

“I already have done,” she continued, picking up the wine menu, eyes glancing at me. “During the war. It was for their own safety.”

I had no idea who “they” were and my spirits sank somewhat, as obliviating someone during the war and obliviating someone because they stumbled upon your naughty little secret were very different things.

“And I reversed it once it was safe,” she added.

My face must have dropped visibly because she smiled at me reassuringly.

“I’m not saying you _should_ reverse it,” she said, pausing as the server arrived at our table.

“Afternoon,” the woman greeted, cheerfully. “My name is Anne, I’ll be your server today. May I start you with something to drink?”

“Hello,” Hermione smiled. “May we have a bottle of the Sancerre Rosé and the bone marrow to start?” She glanced at me and winked cheekily. 

“You’re buying, right?

I could only roll my eyes and Anne gave us both a knowing grin.

“I like the way you think, miss,” she quipped, looking at me expectantly.

“Of course. And a bottle of San Pellegrino, please,” I added.

“Be right back,” she assured us, turning on her heel and heading back towards the server station, probably thinking Hermione and I were an adorable couple.

It wouldn’t have been the first time a muggle server had mistaken Hermione and me for a couple, what, with all our leaning close together to whisper what they assumed were sweet nothings, but were, in actuality, top-secret happenings within the wizarding world.

“I… I just feel awful, ‘Mione,” I sighed, returning to our earlier conversation.

“Why?” she asked, and I knew she wasn’t asking that question the way most people would. 

Hermione wanted specifics. For me to cut straight to the chase.

“… I’m pretty sure I shouldn’t have done it,” I admitted. “I think… I mean… I’m well aware I did it in the heat of the moment and… now I really don’t think I should have.”

I paused, brow furrowed at the memory.

“I didn’t do it because they were in any sort of danger. But…” I wasn’t sure how to continue without giving too much away. 

“Would you do it again?” Hermione asked. “Don’t think, just answer.”

“Absolutely,” I responded.

“Ok,” Hermione nodded. “So what is it that’s worrying you the most? I mean,” she paused again, looking up as she tried to gather her thoughts. “What is it about you having obliviated this person that’s giving you so much grief? To the point where you can’t even concentrate at work?”

I sighed.

“I… I suppose I don’t feel they deserved it,” I admitted, honestly. “I feel as though I’ve violated their trust. I mean. I have violated their trust. Absolutely.”

Hermione bit her lip and our server chose that exact moment to return, bottle of wine and platter of bone marrow in tow. A younger boy arrived behind her with a wine bucket full of ice which he placed just to the side of our table before scuttling off.

“Here you are, Luvs,” Anne announced, setting the platter before us and pulling a wine key from her pocket. She expertly twisted the cork out of the bottle and poured a glass, first for Hermione, then for myself, before setting the bottle in the bucket.

“Enjoy. Food will be out in a bit. In the meantime, let me know if you need anything else.”

“I see what you mean,” Hermione picked up right where we’d left off. “About violating their trust. I mean, I felt _awful_ obliviating my parents after all they’d done for me, but…”

She paused, seeing the look on my face, and blushed a bit.

“You obliviated your mum and dad?” I asked, incredulously, wine glass paused halfway to my mouth.

“Yes,” she nodded, eyes shining fervently. “And I would do it again in a heartbeat, given similar circumstances. I didn’t want any Death Eaters or, heaven forbid, Voldemort, to be able to harm them or otherwise use them to get information, or, you know, to have lured Harry or myself, or Ron. It hurt, and it was one of the most difficult things I’ve ever had to do, but it was in their best interest. I had to keep them safe.”

Again, my face fell as I compared Hermione’s emotional speech to the circumstances under which I’d obliviated Blaise and Pansy.

Apples to fucking oranges, indeed.

I took a sip of wine, letting the wave of flavour wash over my tongue. 

Luscious peach balanced by a sharp acidity; a perfect balance of crisp and creaminess that went perfectly with the late summer sun.

“Draco, stop comparing your situation to my own,” she advised, reading me instantly. “I’m assuming if you felt it necessary to obliviate someone you care about, the situation is such that you’ll not be sharing the details with me, so I can’t really help you decide if it merited such action or not,” she paused to take a sip of wine.

“All I can offer is that I’ve done it and also tell you that I feel there are a limited number of instances where adjusting someone’s memory is forgivable.”

I nodded, frowning in thought, as I smeared some marrow onto a piece of toast and nibbled at it, taking another sip of wine, appreciating how the acidity of the wine helped cut through the rich flavour, providing a wonderful balance.

Hermione had picked well.

“It wasn’t just _my_ privacy that was compromised,” I said, finally, chewing thoughtfully on another nibble of toast. 

Hermione frowned, munching on her own piece of marrow-smeared toast.

“So… you’re saying that, to some effect, you protected your privacy, as well as that of someone else, but now you’re worried that, in doing so, you’ve violated the trust of a friend.”

I nodded.

“Friendship is an odd and bewildering beast,” she commented, shrugging. “Sometimes we have to withhold information from those we love most. You, of all people, should understand that.”

I sighed, somewhat mollified by Hermione’s rationale, even if not entirely convinced she’d be so understanding if she knew I’d done it in a fit of rage to cover up the fact that I was not just fucking her best mate, but drowning in him like a soldier fated to battle the tides aboard Medusa’s Raft.

Seriously, though. What the fuck else was I supposed to have done?

Let Pansy and Blaise hold that beautifully juicy tidbit over my head for all eternity?

Did I look stupid?

“Wow, fancy running into you two,” a voice said suddenly, and I nearly choked on my wine.

Fuck me, could this day get any worse?

“Tristan!” Hermione giggled, eyes slanting over to me mischievously, before gazing up at the fucking bastard grinning down at us. “Coincidence, indeed! Would you care to join us?”

No, Hermione. He would fucking not, I thought, mentally cursing Hermione for picking a restaurant in the vicinity of the pub we’d been at that night.

Outwardly, I merely tilted my head towards one of the empty seats beside us, swirling my glass lazily, looking as though I had not a care in the world.

Tristan, the sodding wanker, continued to grin at us stupidly as he took the seat next to Hermione.

He was decidedly dull and relatively harmless I’d already determined.

So I’d reached into his mind a bit that other night.

So what? I’d just wanted to see what sort of bloke Harry was leaving with since he clearly had no mind to ensure his own safety before taking off with a complete stranger.

Tristan’s mind had been boringly mundane.

He liked crappy pop music, entertained naughty thoughts of Zac Efron, and was decidedly Team Jacob. 

See how much the idiot liked werewolves had he ever come face-to-face with the likes of Greyback.

He worked as a barista at some coffee shop in the area and, far as I’d been able to tell, had little ambition to do much more with his life than continue slinging overpriced coffee drinks by day and picking up handsome blokes by night.

“You two must live in the area,” he stated, still blissfully ignorant, smiling pleasantly as Hermione poured him a glass of wine.

Honestly, she could be a bit blind, as well.

What the fuck did she think she was doing, pouring this arsehole some of our wine?

True, she had no idea I had any reason to loathe this Tristan wanker, but still.

I couldn’t resist casting a quick charm that would make the wine bitter, causing Tristan to choke and sputter when he took a sip.

Nor could I stop the satisfied smirk from creeping across my face when he did so.

“Are you alright?” Hermione clapped her hand on his back a few times and Tristan blinked in confusion a few times as he reached for the proffered glass of water Hermione handed him.

“Yeah, I’m fine, thanks.” He gulped the water eagerly, then set the glass down.

“Not much of a wine drinker?” I asked innocently, raising an eyebrow.

“I guess not,” he admitted. “I usually favour pints, but….”

“So,” Hermione continued, clearly trying to make Tristan feel at ease. “Any plans to see our boy Harry again anytime soon?”

I groaned inwardly.

Silly, Gryffindor, cis girl.

Hermione was a bit of a romantic, and so mad for Ron, she assumed everyone was looking for something long term.

Even if I hadn’t been obsessed with Potter, I’d have assumed whatever the fuck they’d got up to the other night didn’t constitute a repeat session.

Tristan sputtered over his water this time and Hermione glanced at him as though he might be a bit slow.

Bless the idiot. I was beginning to like him.

“Erm. No?” He glanced over at me, a bit desperately, looking for help.

I only offered him a completely unhelpful innocuous stare as I helped myself to another bit of marrow and toast.

“I mean, it was just, you know… erm… we were just…”

Tristan’s babbling was cut short by the arrival of our main courses.

“Are you joining them for a bite?” Anne asked, smiling at Tristan. “Care to see a menu?”

“I’ll just have a pint,” he said, flashing her a smile. 

“I’m sorry about the other night,” Tristan seemed to have recovered somewhat, and he turned to give me a look of chagrin. “I didn’t realise you two were… you know.”

What, in all that Hecate held sacred, was this blithering moron stammering about now?

I fixed him with my most patented Malfoy glare, hoping the fool would understand that he was treading dangerous waters.

“What would have _possibly_ given you any idea that we were… _you_ _know_ ,” I drawled, carefully cutting a small bite of the rarebit and raising the fork to my mouth.

Hermione burst out laughing, and I chanced a glance at her direction, bite all but forgotten in midair.

Tristan looked from me to Hermione, utterly confused.

“Harry and _Draco?”_ she gasped, just a tad loudly, I noted, as the tables near us turned towards us with interest.

She brought her voice back down to an acceptable level and continued.

“Don’t mind that childish exchange just before you took off. Those two have been antagonising each other since lower secondary,” she informed Tristan, leaning towards him conspirationally.

I breathed an inward sigh of relief and looked at Tristan with, what I hoped, was a bemused expression.

“No,” Tristan insisted, and I just about hexed him with permanent ED.

“It’s just… he said your name,” he managed, still clearly baffled at the ridiculous situation he’d stumbled into.

I didn’t even have to fake the howl of glee I gave then, throwing my head back, rocking my chair back on two legs, one hand clapping over my mouth as I looked at Tristan with absolute delight.

He’d done _what_?!

“Draco,” Hermione warned, fixing me with her most earnest stare. “Be nice.”

I couldn’t have hoped for a better turn of events. Honestly.

Hermione was now thoroughly thrown off the “truth trail” and I now had a glimmer of hope that I was affecting Harry.

Perhaps even as much as he was affecting me.

“What?” I protested, turning my gaze to her, pleading. “Hermione, he’s just given me the best tidbit of ammunition possible and you want me to be _nice?!_ ”

I straightened, setting my chair back on all four legs and smirked over at Tristan, who looked positively mortified.

“Sorry,” he muttered, “I just… I guess I just assumed that you had…” he broke off and looked at me helplessly.

“That I’d what? That I’d, at some point, _said his name, too_?” I supplied, raising my brows as the server returned with Tristan’s pint.

Nevermind that he was absolutely right.

I wasn’t going to let the idiot or Hermione know that.

“Erm. Yeah,” he managed a tiny smile up at Anne.

“How is everything?” she asked, smiling brightly but eyeing the barely touched food on our plates.

“Wonderful,” I assured her. “We’re just catching up and got a tad carried away.”

“Tell me, Tristan,” I continued once Anne had left us again.

“When, exactly, did our Harry slip up and confuse the two of us?”

I gave him a pointed once-over to highlight the stark contrast in our appearances and he rolled his eyes and took a gulp from his pint, hand gripping it as though it were a lifeline.

“When do you think, idiot,” he muttered.

My eyes narrowed dangerously.

So. ED for just the weekend, then, hmm, Tristan?

He was nervous, that much was clear, even to someone who didn’t have the ability to flip through the files of his memory.

 _I_ made him nervous.

He couldn’t quite lay a finger on it, but he thought me a bit dangerous.

I continued to peruse his mind, tucking into my meal as I did so, pausing when I came across a memory of Harry, sitting on the edge of a bed, head in his hands, sheets rumpled around him.

_“I’m sorry,” Harry was muttering. “Draco and I… it’s complicated.”_

So Tristan didn’t buy my feigned indifference for Harry for a second, it would seem. And, bless him, he was _worried_ for Harry.

If only he’d had any idea what a powerful wizard Harry was.

As though I could have harmed him, even if I’d wanted to.

“Honestly, I’m still getting over the fact that Harry has a crush on you,” Hermione still looked stunned, her plate of fennel and Berkswell cheese all but forgotten.

“I doubt you’d call it a _crush_ ,” I shrugged.

“Probably just realised I’m fit after all these years,” I added, waggling my brows at her suggestively.

Last thing I needed was Hermione watching Harry or me too closely. She was too sharp, that one.

“Draco, I’m serious,” Hermione was all business now, eyes flashing at me. “Don’t you _dare_ say anything to Harry.”

"I said I’ll play nicely!” I protested again, holding my hands up in mock surrender.

“No,” Hermione countered, looking every bit the mother bear protecting her cub. “You did not. Not expressly, and much as I love you, Draco Malfoy, I know better than to trust you unless you’ve given your express word.”

“You sound like a right nice bloke,” Tristan commented off-handedly, and I made sure the stupid oaf dropped his beer all over himself.

“Just imagine when I get upset,” I drawled as Hermione helped him clean the beer off himself. Tristan’s eyes widened as he looked up at me, clearly not missing my insinuation.

“I promise, Hermione,” I said earnestly, once Tristan was cleaned up as best they could manage, looking her right in the eye. “I will not say or do anything, specifically regarding this situation, to our precious Harry that would embarrass or hurt him.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, seeing right through my clever loophole, leaving myself open to taunt and tease our Harry about anything else under the sun. 

“I suppose it’s a start,” she sighed.

“Right, well, erm,” Tristan scooted his chair back, looking down at his drenched shirt. “I suppose I’ve caused enough awkwardness for one afternoon. I’ll be on my way.”

He rose and made to pull his wallet from his pocket.

"Absolutely not,” I chided him, shaking my head. “This is on us.”

“Erm. Ok,” Tristan said slowly, shoving his wallet back. “Thanks, I guess?”

“No,” I countered, smirking up at him. “Thank _you.”_

Tristan looked bewildered and, quite frankly, pleased to leave as he made his way towards the exit.

But not before I hit with a tripping jinx that spilt him face-first onto the black-and-white tiled floor.

Our server, Anne, rushed over to help him up, and he all but sprinted, not giving a second glance behind him.

“What. An. Idiot.” Hermione murmured, staring after Tristan.

She spun around to face me, a look of disbelief across her face.

“Do you boys really just go around pulling any fool that looks pretty? Do you really not care if they've trouble walking and can’t carry a decent conversation to save their lives?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” I mused, refilling my wine glass and giving it a swirl. “I doubt there was _any_ conversation and very little walking involved. You’d have to ask Harry to be sure, but it might have been worth his while.”

“Not according to Tristan,” Hermione blurted out, sniggering, despite herself. “Poor bloke. Harry said _your_ name!”

“Shh, Hermione,” I chided. “You’ve asked me to behave and here you are, giving me ideas…”


	12. The Merits of a Slytherin Partner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry meets Ron for their usual weekend tea and tells him about this mysterious bloke who's taken over his life.

_Saturday Afternoon_

22 _August 2009_

_Ron’s POV_

“Alright mate?” I asked, opening the door and letting Harry in. 

He was over for our usual Saturday tea but looked as though he’d just woke up. 

“‘m good,” he replied, shrugging off his jacket and hanging it on the rack. “Where’s Hermione?”

“She got called into work. Early.” 

Hermione had received a Ministry owl summoning her to work at 7 am. On a Saturday. 

I’d spent much of the morning anticipating my own summons, assuming it had to do with the Erised case, but so far, nothing. 

“You sure you’re ok, Harry?” I asked again. 

Aside from looking a bit haggard, Harry’s eyes were anxious and when he smiled, it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Harry sighed and slumped down onto our couch. 

“I’m a right mess,” he admitted, stretching out along the entire couch, tossing an arm over his eyes. 

“Anything you want to talk about?” I asked, nipping into the kitchen to grab the tea service and setting it on the coffee table, taking a seat in one of the armchairs adjacent to Harry and the couch. 

“Dunno,” he muttered, arm still slung over his eyes.

He had a definite shadow growing on his face and his hair was even more rumpled than usual, letting me know that Harry probably hadn’t been home last night. 

“Well, if you decide you want to, I’m all ears,” I reminded him, pouring tea into two mugs, setting one on the edge of the table closest to him, before rising again to grab the food.

“You know I’m rubbish at making food, even for tea,” I apologised when I returned, setting a plate of Tesco tea sandwiches, scones, clotted cream, Harry’s favourite strawberry jam, and some biscuits on the table. “I ran out to Tesco and grabbed the sandwiches & such. Not quite Hermione’s touch, but it’ll do.”

Harry sat up and grabbed a sandwich, tearing into it as though he hadn’t eaten in weeks.

“I don’t care. It’s the company, right?” 

We sat in silence for a few moments, chewing. 

Tesco actually made some great tea sandwiches, I mused, still watching Harry closely. 

He was staring at some point on the floor, eating his third sandwich, brow furrowed as though deep in thought. 

“I’m really fucking things up, Ron,” he said finally, eyes snapping up to stare at me. 

He finished chewing and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before grabbing another sandwich. 

“How so?” I also reached for another sandwich, selecting a prawn mayonnaise, and looked at him expectantly.

Harry sat in silence, staring back at the floor, chewing thoughtfully. 

“There’s this bloke,” he said, after a moment’s pause. 

“Sorry,” he apologised. “I know you probably didn’t want to spend your Saturday talking about blokes.” 

I shrugged.

“Why not? We’re mates. That’s what I’m here for.” 

“I don’t even know where to start,” he sighed, shoulders slumping, sandwich all but forgotten in his lap. “I’m really fucking this one up.”

“I mean, you know I’m about obtuse as they come with relationships, but I’m here for you if you need to unload. I’ll even try to give you advice if you want.” 

Harry gave a small smile and glanced up at me, eyes finally smiling a bit. 

We both knew Hermione was the one you went to for advice. 

“I really like him, Ron,” he said quietly. 

“I can see that,” I agreed, eating another sandwich, this time salmon and cream cheese, wondering if Hermione would notice that none of the scones or biscuits had been touched when she returned. 

She hated when I gorged myself on sandwiches and didn’t take a proper tea. 

“So where’d you meet this bloke? On that muggle app?” 

I knew that Harry had been active on the app Hermione had told him about earlier this year. 

_Quite_ active. 

“Yeah.” 

“So what’s the problem? Start at the beginning and just babble. That’s the best way,” I advised. 

Harry chuckled and began to spread a generous amount of jam and cream on a scone, and I felt better already, despite the fact that he was putting the condiments on the wrong way round. Hermione and I had both, at one point, told him so, but he insisted there was no right way. 

“He’s just wonderful, Ron,” he sighed, sounding, for all the world, like a lovesick teen. 

“Ticks all your boxes,” I teased. “Even the “ _big_ ” one?” 

Harry glared at me, taking a bite of the scone, the cream and jam piled so high it left a dab on his nose. 

“Shut up,” he retorted, swiping at his nose with the back of his hand. “Unless you want me to give you the _full_ details,” he threatened, brows waggling. “‘Cause I could talk about that for _hours_ , trust.”

“Please! Don’t!” I gasped, laughing. “Just glad you finally found yourself someone who’s hung like a dragon.” 

“What?” Harry was staring at me, mouth open, brow furrowed in confusion.

“You know,” I explained, taking a bite of roast beef sandwich. “Hung like a dragon.” 

I chewed in thought for a moment.

“I dunno, Charlie makes that joke a lot, but he works with dragons….” 

“Right,” Harry mused, shaking his head. “Suppose I’d never thought about a dragon’s bits, but… yeah, sure. Hung like a dragon.” 

He chuckled to himself and shook his head again, and I couldn’t help but grin.

“So, how are you fucking this up, exactly,” I asked, returning to the problem at hand. 

“I…” he began, then paused, frowning in thought.

“Did you two have a row?” 

“No,” he shook his head. “That’s not an issue, quite yet.” 

“I mean, we met on Grindr” he reminded me, glancing my way a bit sheepishly. 

I shrugged. 

“Right,” I said aloud. “So… that means what, exactly?” 

“It means… it was just supposed to be a one-off, but, you know…” he shrugged.

“He was hung like a dragon?” I smirked, then collapsed into a fit of giggles, earning me a glare. 

“I’m sorry, Harry.” Lies, obviously. “He turned out to be intelligent and capable of interesting conversation in _addition_ to being hung like a dragon,” I amended, still sniggering. 

“Git,” Harry retorted, throwing a pillow at me. 

“So are you worried about if he finds out you’re a wizard then?” I asked, finally smearing some cream and jam onto my own scone. “I mean, I imagine it’s a difficult conversation, but you could talk to Lee about that.” 

I chewed thoughtfully, remembering the first time Lee's wife, Susan, had met the lot of us. 

Even though she’d been fully aware she was walking into a room full of wizards, she’d been amazed at, what I had thought, were completely mundane things. 

Harry had been a great help, having gone through a similar induction to the wizarding world himself. 

“No,” Harry sighed, reaching for a biscuit & pouring himself a bit more tea. 

“It’s not that. I _wish_ it were that,” he added, frowning. “That’d be the easy part.” 

“Crikey,” I said, before realising it was not quite the most understanding sentiment to be sharing with Harry at the moment.

“I’m still struggling with the part where I tell him I actually like him,” Harry sighed. “If I’m going to be entirely honest, I’m still struggling with telling _myself_ that I like him,” he added, flopping back onto the couch. 

“Denial’s a bit of a bitch, isn’t she?” I reckoned, eating more of my scone.

“I’ve been doing my damndest to meet other blokes and stay away from him,” Harry admitted, scratching at his stubble absent-mindedly. “Yay, Grindr,” he grinned over at me ruefully. 

“Bet you’re a tad glad Hermione’s not here right now, hmm?” 

Harry groaned and buried his face in his hands, no doubt imagining the lecture Hermione would be giving him on the dangers of promiscuous sex and being safe. 

“She’s the one who told me about that dumb app,” he grumbled, peering at me from between his fingers. 

“I know,” I agreed. “I don’t think she realised… erm… you know…” 

“What a slut I can be if left to my own devices?” Harry supplied, taking a sip of tea, and winking. 

I couldn’t help but laugh at that.

“I don’t know that she’d phrase it like that,” I began, “But you _have_ been a bit… busy lately.” 

Harry shrugged.

“He’s hard to forget. Have to work hard at it.” 

“Yeah, however, that method doesn’t actually seem to be working, Harry,” I informed him, laughing again. “What are you worried about, anyway? Think there’s a chance he doesn’t like you? I mean, I don’t know… you’re fit and interesting, even without the wizarding part.” 

I shrugged. Harry seemed like he’d be a good pull, to me, anyway. 

“Oh, he likes _parts_ of me,” Harry admitted, giving me a wolfish grin and I rolled my eyes. 

“I just don’t know if he’d want…” he paused, worrying his lip a bit. “Look, when we first met up, he was very adamant about it being _just_ _sex_. Nothing else, you know?” 

“Erm, mate, I’m married to Hermione,” I reminded him. “No, I _really_ don’t know….” 

Harry giggled.

“Too true, Ron,” he agreed, sighing and shaking his head. 

Harry was gazing, starry-eyed, off into a corner and I smiled to myself. 

“So is that where you were last night?” I asked, draining my cup of tea and pouring myself another. 

Harry looked sheepish.

“Sort of.” 

“Sort of? Do I even _want_ to know what that means?” 

Harry glared at me as he butchered yet another scone.

“Shut up,” he muttered, taking a bite.

“I was at another bloke’s place,” he explained between bites. 

“Merlin, he was bloody awful.” Harry shuddered. “I nearly hexed his bits off to make sure he never has sex again.” 

“The dangers of pulling a wizard,” I conceded, nodding in mock-seriousness, earning me another glare from Harry.

“Then what?,” I asked, chewing another bite of scone. 

“Then what, what?” 

“You were with that bloke, and then what? Did you invite lover-boy over to spice things up or something?” 

“Ron!” Harry stared at me, aghast. 

“What? I mean, if the one was so terrible, and the other is so wonderful, you know. Balance, and all….” 

“I didn’t know you had it in you, Ron!” Harry was nearly doubled over laughing. 

“Does Hermione know you entertain such thoughts?” he teased, and I shrugged.

“We’ve been together going on thirteen years,” I reasoned. “Not a lot we’ve _not_ tried, honestly.” 

“Wow,” Harry gazed at me. “I hadn’t realised it’d been that long. We’re getting old…” 

“We are not,” I chided. “Come on, then. Finish your story. So you didn’t call Mister-Dragon-Prick over to sort things out. What _did_ you do?”

Harry snorted some of his tea out of his nose and took a moment to compose himself before responding.

“I called him and went to his,” he said, casually. 

I stared at him. I had to have heard him wrong.

“You did what?” 

Harry glanced at me woefully. 

“I… went to his,” he repeated quietly. 

“Mate, you didn’t.” I stared at him. “I mean, I assume he knew you… you’d been… that…” 

Harry only nodded meekly.

“I was really drunk,” he offered, not quite meeting my eyes.

“What did _he_ do?” 

Harry shrugged. 

“Made me tea and tucked me into his guest bed.” 

“Bloody nice of him,” I commented. “You sure he’s the one insisting on just sex?” 

“I mean, he _says_ just sex, but then does things like calls me _his_ Harry, and holds me and… and gives me massages and shampoos my hair,” he sighed again. “Like, really, what am I _supposed_ to think?”

“Sounds to me like maybe he’s having a change of heart himself and doesn’t know how to go about telling you,” I answered honestly. “And if he’s aware you’re out trying to shag every bloke with a passable Grindr profile, my guess is he’s not going to be the one to admit it first.” 

Harry rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. 

“I suppose you ought to harness some of that famous Gryffindor courage and go snag him before someone else does,” I suggested. 

Harry snorted.

“Why does that have to be our thing? Gryffindor courage. I’m scared shitless when I’m around him,” he grumbled, slumping back onto the couch cushions, pouting like back in third-year when he realized there’d be no trips to Hogsmeade. 

“Honestly, I don’t think being a Gryffindor means we’re not scared of _anything_ , Harry,” I told him, truthfully. “Just that we can overcome those fears and push forward, is all.” 

Harry scowled even more.

“If he were a wizard, what house do you think he’d have been sorted into?” I asked curiously, chewing another scone slathered with cream and jam.

Harry sat up, brow furrowed in thought.

“Ravenclaw,” he mused. “Or, honestly, most likely Slytherin.” 

He shrugged nonchalantly, helping himself to another scone. 

“I dunno,” he continued, slathering yet another scone with jam and then cream, driving me completely batty. 

Everyone knew the cream should come first, didn’t they?

“I’m certainly not the Sorting Hat,” he reasoned, biting into his incorrectly slathered scone. “But he’s quite bright, and rather cunning, so….” 

“Sorry, Harry,” I groaned in sympathy. “Both those houses seem like they’d be the hardest to start a relationship with.” 

Harry shot me a glare as he took another bite of his scone.

“Thanks, Ron,” he quipped. “That’s a real help.” 

“Oh, Harry, you know what I mean,” I backtracked. “Ravenclaws are only going to think about the pros and cons and what concrete evidence they have to support both columns. And Slytherins, crikey. You’ve no idea. I’ve learnt a bunch working with Blaise. That lot. Cunning to say the least…”

Harry was staring at me apprehensively, eyebrows raised, scone forgotten in his hand.

“Don’t get me wrong,” I continued. “Blaise is a wonderful partner and I’m glad to call him a mate. But, if you thought Hermione was scary when _she_ was on a roll...” I shuddered involuntarily. “Blaise will take what _I_ thought was a great idea, but, instead of saying anything, will question me to the point where I smash my dumb idea to smithereens, then he just smirks at me, like a fucking twat, and tells me his own idea, which is always better.” I shook my head, half in anger, half in amazement. 

“He’s a right twat,” I added again, lest Harry not have understood the first time. 

“Glad to know,” Harry all but croaked. “He seemed absolutely nice at my party and when we went out for pints.” 

“He is,” I shrugged. 

“It’s hard to explain a Slytherin, though. They’re just as sneaky and cunning as their reputation makes them to be. Perhaps even more so, really.” 

I took another bite of my scone, brow furrowing in thought. 

“But when they actually _care_ about someone, that cunning will fuck up just about anyone or anything that tries to mess with you. Of course, they’ll be sure you look a right fool because they won’t actually _admit_ they care about anything.” 

It was the truth, and I’d come to learn that Blaise’s silly pranks and snarky remarks were a sign of his affection and now welcomed them the way I’d welcome a hug or heartfelt comment from Harry. 

“Seriously though, Harry,” I reasoned, bringing the conversation back round to Harry’s mysterious lover. “You ought to have a chat with this bloke. Let him know you want more than a couple of one-offs.” 

Harry sighed.

“I know. And I will. I just…”

“Do it, Harry,” I sing-songed and he grinned.

“I _will_ , Ron,” he assured me. “Promise.”

“I want to meet him. As will Hermione,” I continued. “Hopefully by Halloween?” 

Harry grimaced a bit, then nodded.

“Sure, if all goes well.” 

I grinned at him, helping myself to a biscuit, thinking forward to the day when we’d get to meet Harry’s new bloke, wondering what Hermione and I would think of him. 


	13. Decisions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quite a long chapter but:  
> \- Draco & Blaise have a heart-to-heart  
> \- Draco & Harry reunite  
> \- Sex, again. Finally.

_Saturday Evening_

22 _August 2009_

_Draco’s POV_

“Draco, tell me about it,” Blaise drawled, drawing one knee up under his chin, gazing over at me with a knowing gaze.

Fuck. 

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about,” I sniffed, taking a sip of wine. 

Anaïs was putting the little ones to bed, leaving Blaise and me out in their garden, enjoying the late-summer air. 

“Quit being thick, Draco,” he advised, reclining fully in his chaise lounge, fixing me with his gaze. Blaise had always had this ability to look right through you. 

“There’s a bloke involved,” he added, sipping his wine. 

“I…” I started, then stopped. 

What the bloody hell was I even going to tell Blaise? 

What _could_ I tell him? 

I didn’t even know what the fuck was going on myself. 

“I,” I tried again, stopping in thought.

“Wow,” Blaise cut in. “You’re in for it bad.” 

“Shut up,” I muttered, knowing it was no use to argue otherwise. 

“Is there any chance of meeting this delectable bloke?” Blaise asked, smirking my way. 

“Eat Voldemort’s shit,” I retorted, channelling my inner twelve-year-old, apparently. 

Blaise caught on immediately and guffawed, heaving himself upright and bending nearly in half, he was laughing so hard. 

“Oh, Draco!” he gasped. “Really? I’ve _got_ to meet this one! He sounds positively delightful!” 

“Tell me,” he continued, reclining once more in his chair, eyes smirking over at me. “How did you two meet? When did you know it was absolute kismet? Who broke down first?”

I glared at him.

“Ouch!” he cried, as my wandless stinging hex hit him full on. “Fuck you!” 

“You deserved it,” I replied, taking a sip of wine. 

“Did not,” he countered, hazel eyes flaring. “Just trying to help out.” 

“Didn’t ask for help,” I ground out, still not willing to admit it to him. 

Perhaps. Ok. _Definitely_ , still feeling guilty for obliviating him. 

“I know,” he assured me, rolling his eyes. “You never do. That’s why Pansy and I have to risk our sanity and well-being to help you when you need it.” 

This earned him another glare, that would have, quite honestly, killed a lesser man. 

“Draco, you can keep sending me your patented glares like they mean a shit, or you can tell me about this bloke who’s got you all in a bind,” Blaise informed me, settling once more into his chair. 

“I don’t know where to start, Blaise,” I sighed, truthfully.

“The beginning’s usually a good place,” he returned, immediately. “I assume you two met on that Grindr thing?” 

“Yeah.”

“Ok. And?”

“…”

“Draco, seriously,” Blaise rolled his eyes.

“He’s fucking brilliant,” I ground out. 

“ _He_ is?” Blaise sniggered. “Or is it just his mouth and arse?”

“Ow! Fuck! Draco!” Blaise shrieked. “Fucking Merlin, ok, I’m sorry! Fuck! You like him. He’s wonderful. Mouth, arse, _and_ brain! Holy Hecate, _please_ stop!” 

My instantaneous migraine hexes were nothing to be fucked with. 

“Which brings me to my next point,” Blaise continued warily. “What’s he going to do when he figures out you’re a wizard?” 

Blaise had assumed I was seeing a muggle, mostly because I’d almost exclusively dated muggles since the war.

You see, not many wizards were keen on the Malfoy name following said war. 

Dating muggles was just so much easier. 

They had no preconceived notions of me. My family. My name. 

I could just be me. 

Draco. 

“That’s so far from the point,” I informed him, scowling. “I’ve a shit ton of other bullshit to sort through with this bloke.” 

“Ok,” Blaise, ever the pragmatist, conceded. “Like what?”

I couldn’t answer immediately, my brain instantly flooded with images of Harry sprawled out before me, writhing beneath me, clinging around me, those fucking eyes blinking up at me. 

“Wow, mate, you need a minute?” Blaise asked, and I realised that my face had been reacting to my thoughts visibly. 

Fuck. 

“This bloke’s got you something good,” Blaise observed. 

“Mmm,” I agreed, not willing to give in more than that.

“Does he have any idea?” 

I shrugged. 

Honestly, did anyone have any idea what was going on in Potter’s mind? 

“Well, what are you going to do about it?” Blaise wasn’t going to let this go. 

He needed answers. Solutions. Immediately.

“I’m not sure,” I answered, honestly.

“Can I meet him?” Blaise asked, genuinely interested. “And Pansy, too?”

I shrugged again. 

“We’re not exactly in a relationship, Blaise,” I informed him. 

“So he’s completely against a relationship, then?” Blaise asked, eyes slanting towards me and I knew to take care with my next few responses. 

“Not sure,” I answered. “To the best of my knowledge, he’s keen on taking any opportunity available to him.” 

“And you?” Blaise always went for the jugular, the fucktard. 

I paused a moment too long and Blaise chuckled.

“Aha,” he murmured, eyes sparkling with delight. “So… Draco Malfoy’s been monogamous, hmm?” 

“I wouldn’t call it that, necessarily” I sniffed, taking another sip of wine. 

“Then what would you call it?” Blaise countered, almost lazily. 

Bastard had me, and he knew it. 

“Being selective,” I replied, still not ready to concede. 

“I see.” He paused and took a sip of wine, watching me carefully. 

“And is that the issue that’s got you so worked up, Luv?” 

I didn’t respond, hoping Anaïs would pick this moment to return. 

She wouldn’t, of course. 

She would’ve already known damn well Blaise had something to speak with me about alone. 

“That you’re being… _selective_ , and he’s not?” 

I continued to glare at a random spot at the far end of Blaise’s garden and reigned in my desire to hit Blaise with another jinx. 

That would’ve been just as good as an admission on my part. 

“I mean, we all know you’ve never been good at sharing,” he continued. 

“ _Anything,”_ he added pointedly. 

“Blaise, please,” I sighed, dropping my face into my palms. “Don’t.” 

Blaise stared at me, genuinely startled and concerned. 

“Ok,” he agreed, immediately, still staring. 

We communicated mainly in prank and jest, all covered beneath a thick layer of sarcasm. 

This open honesty was only reserved for the direst of circumstances. 

“Have you tried talking to him?” he asked, barbed comments gone for the time being. 

“I get a bit distracted when he’s around and the talking pretty much falls by the wayside,” I admitted. “Plus, you know I hate talking.” 

I pulled a face and took another sip of wine. 

“Yeah, I know how that goes,” Blaise admitted, raising his eyebrows in agreement and glancing inside, as though hoping to catch a glimpse of his beautiful wife. 

“You’re damned lucky,” I informed him. 

Hell, if we were going to be genuine for a moment, I might as well go all out. 

“Yeah,” he agreed, smiling and glancing back at me. 

“Took a lot of effort, and being open, and decidedly un-Slytherin to make it work, too,” he added pointedly. 

I glanced back at him, definitely feeling a tad nervous. 

“It was worth it,” he continued, eyes travelling back to the house where Anaïs was just coming down the stairs. 

I watched my friend's eyes, riveted on her, as she smiled, giving us a little wave, before disappearing into the kitchen. 

“What if it hadn’t worked out?” I asked hesitantly. 

Blaise continued staring into his home for a few seconds.

“Then she was well worth the shot,” he said softly, eyes meeting mine, completely open and honest. 

“Thanks, Blaise,” I sighed, genuinely thankful. 

“Of course,” he replied, and I stood, ready to head home and mull things over. 

“Draco,” he called, as I headed towards the house. 

I turned.

He smiled at me, hazel eyes still warm and earnest. 

“Good luck, mate.” 

***

_Later that evening._

The events of the day were whirling in my brain as I sat sprawled across my sofa, staring at the wall, trying to make sense of it. 

The conversation with Blaise.

Lunch with Hermione. 

That idiot, Tristan. 

Harry had called my name. 

_My_ name. 

In bed with some other bloke. 

Merlin, have mercy. My brain couldn’t quite wrap around that right now. 

That meant this all had to mean more to him than just a good lay, right? 

I mean, one didn’t call out the name of some casual fuck when, well, fucking another casual fuck, did they? 

I stood and began to pace my reception, going over each one of our interactions in my mind, dissecting each memory for any proof that Harry might see me as more than just a good fuck before I broke down and opened the Pensieve app on my mobile. 

I hadn’t looked at it since that night. 

Honestly, I’d briefly considered obliterating all the memories of Harry but hadn’t quite been able to bring myself to do it. 

Because I loved watching them again. And again. And again….

I’d been hesitant at first, not wanting to see my face, stupid smitten, gazing down at Harry as though he lit my entire world. 

So, naturally, I’d just focused on Harry. 

The way he would arch up into me, arms and legs twining around me, eyes sliding shut, the sweet gasps and delicious moans slipping from his mouth as I plundered it with my own. 

Merlin, I was hard and hadn’t even opened the blasted app yet.

I selected a memory from the last time we’d been together. 

When he’d apparated into my flat and, eventually, displayed himself, touching himself wantonly, explaining to me how he’d teased himself to the brink of orgasm that evening. 

My hand circled my cock lightly and stroked gently, teasing. 

Fuck, but Harry was gorgeous. 

I watched as I all but scrambled on top of him, kissing him desperately as I pinned his hands above his head. 

I allowed myself to fast-forward to when I’d discovered the dildo up his arse. 

My brief look of shock before I’d groaned and attacked Harry’s mouth. 

His breathy reminder that he’d teased himself to the verge not once, but twice, that evening. 

The positively electric kiss that had followed.

Harry, unbinding himself, flipping me over, taking control, as he’d made his way down my body, teasing and taunting, until he’d finally swallowed my cock, achingly slow, before finally giving in and sucking me off in earnest. 

I’d watched it so many times, I didn’t even care what a completely wanton picture I made, my eyes alternating between watching Harry devour my prick and squeezing shut in ecstasy, pulling against my invisible bonds, hips rising in an attempt to remain within the tight, wet heat of his mouth. 

“Say the spell,” he whispered in my memory.

Oh, fuck, I groaned aloud, letting my mobile clatter to the floor, hand picking up pace. 

To be honest, I rarely made it past this point, my orgasm rushing over me at the sight of Harry asking me to command that dildo to fuck him as he sucked me off. 

Surprisingly, this time, I stopped. 

The idea that had sprung into my brain should have been obvious. From the beginning, really. 

I removed my hand from my cock, somewhat reluctantly, closing my eyes and taking a few deep breaths before pulling my pants back up and fastening my trousers, tucking my shirt back in, then running a hand through my hair, making myself somewhat presentable. 

It took another round of deep breathing before I’d composed myself enough to reach down and grab my mobile. 

“Still haven’t adjusted my wards, if you’re feeling up to it,” I messaged Harry, then tossed it aside, telling myself that, should Harry appear, I would insist we talk first. 

***

Less than ten minutes later, Harry appeared at the entrance of my flat, shirtless, pyjamas tented, eyes bright with lust, and all thoughts of talking flew from my mind more quickly than a Snitch taking off at the start of a World Cup match. 

“Something I might help you with, Malfoy?” he asked softly, crossing the distance between us, eyes locked on mine. 

Merlin, he was gorgeous, and I faltered for a second, unable to speak. 

He smirked down at me, hand moving to caress the bulge in his pyjamas, eyes darkening as they gazed down at me. 

“I’ve got lots you could help _me_ with,” he added, moving to straddle me, arms wrapping around my neck, as he settled himself on my lap to grind down onto my cock, already standing back at full attention. 

Fuck it.

I was already lost.

My arms reached around him, one hand threading through his messy black locks to pull him down for a kiss, groaning as he tilted his head so his mouth fit perfectly against mine, that wicked tongue of his licking into me as he sighed in contentment. 

I plunged my tongue back into the warmth of Harry’s mouth, Harry sucking at it eagerly as he knelt up, hands scrabbling to undo my shirt. 

“Want you so bad, Malfoy,” he muttered, fingers fumbling with the buttons, his mouth refusing to leave mine. 

“Mmmh,” was all I could manage as I continued to kiss back, mapping each little divot and crevice in his mouth as though my life would one day depend on my knowledge of it. 

“Been wanking myself stupid to you all day,” Harry continued, still struggling with my shirt, and I spelled it away, wondering why Harry hadn’t thought to do so himself. 

He practically growled and fastened his mouth to my neck, hands trailing down my chest, twisting at my nipples before continuing their path down to my trousers. 

“Merlin, how I want your cock,” he sighed, mouth returning to plunder mine, tongue darting in, commanding my own to rise and tangle with his as his hands undid the button and zip on my trousers before Harry seemed to remember he was a full-grown, powerful wizard and vanished them. 

“Where,” I asked, slowing the kiss, grabbing Harry’s full bottom lip between my own, pulling at it with my teeth, earning a deliciously throaty moan from him that had me returning to lick back into him, tongue delving into the wet heat of his mouth. 

“Hmm?” I asked, breaking the kiss only as long as it took to get the words out. “ _Where_ do you want my cock?” 

Harry didn’t answer, just kept kissing me as though he was a man starving. 

I returned my one hand to card through his hair, the other settling at the small of his back, my mouth breaking from his to trail kisses down his neck, licking and sucking at the sensitive skin there. 

Harry leaned back, allowing his weight to rest in my hands, head tilted, all but begging me to continue marking him with more bites and languid sucks and I took the opportunity to spell his pyjamas away, groaning as his bare skin made contact with my own. 

“Hmm, Harry?” I asked again, returning to gently nip at his mouth, loving the way his tongue darted out, trying to capture mine, relishing in his frustrated moans as I deftly withdrew my own just out of reach with his every attempt. 

“I dunno,” he gasped, still trying to capture me for a proper kiss.

“Sure you do, kitten,” I reasoned, allowing myself to swirl my tongue into his mouth, tangling with his own, before darting out again. 

“Mmmh,” Harry protested, sitting once more so he could lean into me, following my mouth again, rolling his hips so that my cock slid into the deep valley between his cheeks.

“When you were wanking yourself just earlier,” I continued, surprised I was still making coherent sentences as I ran my hands over his back, trailing one back up his abdomen, plucking at a nipple, before caressing the back of his head, tilting his head to one side. 

“Where did you imagine my cock?” I thrust my hips up, rutting my length along his channel as I nipped along Harry’s neck again, pressing an innocent kiss into the corner of his mouth before continuing. 

“Was it fucking in and out of this sweet, luscious mouth of yours?” 

I allowed my tongue to mimic the motions, and Harry groaned, falling backwards, knowing I would hold him, allowing me to plunder his mouth, everything about him pliant and yielding, _begging_ , beneath me. 

“Or,” I continued, withdrawing from that wet heat, the thought of it wrapped around my cock making me even harder than I already was, if that were even possible. 

“Did you imagine it sliding into that pretty, pink pucker of yours, spreading you wide open?” 

Harry moaned, tongue driving into my mouth, battling with my own as he ground down even harder onto my cock. 

“Both,” he gasped, hips rocking, mouth seeking mine desperately. 

“You… you… were… in both,” he managed between kisses.

An idea popped into my lust-addled brain at this and I decided to give in to it. 

To tease my Harry. 

To punish him, just a little. 

Deliciously. The way he would like. 

For being an absolute slag and daring to go home with that idiot, Tristan. 

For calling me, presuming to come to mine, after having been with another bloke. 

I doubt Potter could even fathom what that had done to me.

“What if you had to pick just one,” I asked, tongue still slipping between those exquisite, reddened lips of his. 

“No,” he responded, kissing back eagerly. “Want both.” 

“Oh, Harry,” I murmured, drawing back for just a second before returning to ravage his mouth once more. 

“Sometimes we have to make decisions.” 

Another slow lick into his mouth, and I’m not sure who let out that lust-ridden moan. 

“Which…” he gasped, insisting on kissing and talking at the same time, his legs wrapping more tightly around me, still pressing down onto my leaking cock. 

“Whichever one you want,” he finally ground out. 

“Sweet Harry,” I whispered, looking into those incredible green eyes of his, all but drowning in them. 

“This isn’t about me,” I informed him, pressing another kiss into his mouth, hands trailing patterns across his back. 

I continued to press kisses along the side of his neck and down across his shoulder, stopping to swirl my tongue over the bony bump where his collarbone connected to shoulder bone. 

“This is about you,” I went on, trailing kisses down his chest, sucking a dusky nipple into my mouth, eliciting another moan from Harry, before returning to plunder his mouth once more. 

“About _you_ getting _exactly_ what you want,” I sighed. “What you _deserve_.” 

“Don’t deserve anything from you, Draco,” he replied, burying his head in the crook of my neck. 

“Of course you do, kitten,” I countered, lifting his chin so I could look into his eyes again. 

Harry met my gaze head-on, then blinked shyly away. 

“So, pet,” I wasn’t going to give up until my Harry made his decision.

I turned his jaw to kiss and nibble my way back to that sinful mouth of his.

“Which will it be?” I paused to fasten my mouth to his again, kissing him slowly, thoroughly, as though I had all the time in the world to explore his sweetness. 

“Mprse,” Harry grumbled, and I couldn’t help but chuckle. 

“I’m sorry, Harry,” I whispered, detaching my mouth from his, pulling away to gaze at him. 

His eyes were wide, completely lust-blown, staring down at me, mouth slack, hips still working, almost absently. 

“I didn’t quite catch that,” I continued, standing slowly, holding him close as he all but slid down my body, legs detangling from my waist to land gently on the floor. 

“My arse,” he repeated quietly, standing on tip-toe, mouth seeking mine. 

“I want you to fuck my arse.” 

Holy Hecate, did he have any idea what he did to me? 

I all but growled into his mouth, not even bothering to try to separate myself from him as I led us away from the couch. 

I’d intended to steer us toward the bedroom, but, apparently, my subconscious thought this much too far and I found myself angling Harry towards the dining table, a wandless spell moving the chair nearest us out of the way so that I could push Harry right up to the edge. 

All the while, his arms were twined around my neck, hands tangling in my hair, our faces pressing together. 

To be honest, I was getting really good at this kissing-without-breathing business. 

Apparently, Harry was all the air my lungs needed. 

As soon as Harry’s arse hit the edge of the table, he leaned back, legs wrapping around my waist, pulling me down over him, and I was only too happy to follow, snogging him senseless, losing myself in the taste and heat of him. 

“Draco,” he moaned, pushing up against me, hips grinding shamelessly. 

“Soon, kitten,” I promised, pressing more kisses along his jawline, dipping my head to nip behind his ear. 

“There are just a few more things I need sorted first, though.” 

Harry groaned and rolled his body up against mine in a positively wicked way and I leaned down to capture his mouth again, groaning into it as our bodies continued to press together.

“Hurry up,” he growled, tongue battling mine, legs locking behind my back, all but holding me prisoner, pressed tight up against him. 

“When you imagined me fucking your sweet, perfect, little arse earlier,” I began, hands sliding beneath him as he writhed up to fondle said arse. 

“ _How_ did you imagine it?” 

“What?” Harry stared at me incredulously. “What do you even mean, _how_?” 

“I mean,” I elaborated, bending my head to suck bruising kisses into his neck. I could already see the purple marks forming and was, honestly, pleased, at the thought of Harry having to explain or hide them next day. 

“When I was fucking you in your fantasy earlier, how was I fucking you?” I returned to kiss back into his mouth, revelling in the way he wrapped around me, welcoming me. 

“Was it slow?” I licked slowly into his mouth to emphasise my point.

“Did I tease you?” Harry groaned and leaned up to follow my tongue as it withdrew from his mouth. 

“Make you all but insane with need?” I drove my tongue slowly in and out of his mouth as I ground my hips down into him, excruciatingly slow, groaning as our cocks slid together with my movements. 

“Yes,” Harry gasped, not even bothering to hear the counterpoint to the slow, teasing fuck I’d just offered him. 

“Are you sure, Luv?” I asked, still kissing and grinding into him slowly. 

“Yes, slow,” he gasped again, mouth barely separating from mine. “I want it slow.” 

Any qualms I might have had about teasing Harry so mercilessly flew out the window at the realisation that he, apparently, loved being teased as much as I loved to tease. 

Another bout of frantic kissing, tongues tangling, bodies and faces pressed obscenely close, as though we could fuse together if we pressed, one against the other, hard enough. 

“Draco, please!” he all but sobbed, arms clutching tighter, legs wrapping more closely, if that were even possible. 

“Shh,” I soothed, pulling away gently, hands running down his sides, smoothing down his legs, still wrapped around me. 

“There’s just one last decision, my sweet,” I assured him, running my hands down his sides once more.

“No,” he pouted, green eyes doing their best to glare up at me in their lust-fogged haze. 

“Yes, kitten,” I insisted, bending down to kiss him briefly. 

“A very important decision,” I added, kissing him again, losing myself in this leisurely exploration of lips and tongue for a few moments. 

Minutes. 

Ages. 

Who could even keep track? 

“I,” he gasped, refusing to fully release his mouth from my own. “I just want you _in_ me.” 

Merlin, was he trying to kill me? 

“And you will,” I assured him, separating my mouth from his and rising so I was looking down at him, spread out before me, his hands reaching out to trail down my stomach and thighs, purposely avoiding my cock, standing out, almost purple, dripping with need for him. 

“But first we’ll need to get you ready,” I reminded him, reaching a hand down to circle my prick, watching as Harry’s eyes darkened even more as he watched my hand, fingers barely meeting around its thick length, gliding up and down, slicking pre-cum up and down the shaft. 

“If you weren’t such a stubborn git, my mouth could have done that,” he informed me, salty as could be, and I allowed myself a chuckle, still stroking gently. 

“I’m well aware what your mouth could have done,” I assured him, allowing myself a fond smirk in his direction, hand still working my prick. 

“But,” I lowered myself to my knees before him, kissing up his thighs. 

“We need to decide how we’ll get you ready for me.” 

Harry groaned, legs already wrapping around my head, drawing me nearer to that luscious pink swirl of his, and it was all I could do not to reach out with my tongue to lick into him. 

“Harry,” I chided, turning my face to plant kisses along the insides of his thighs before standing, moving his legs so they now wrapped around my waist. 

“Draco,” he growled, eyes flashing, and I chuckled again. 

Merlin, but the sight of Harry wrecked and desperate was fucking gorgeous. 

“Did you picture me loosening that pretty, little, pink arse of yours with my mouth?” 

I knelt again and allowed myself one, lazy swipe at his delectable arse before continuing, ignoring Harry’s groan, dislodging myself from his legs, moving to plant kisses along his thighs and not with my face pressed up into his sweet arse the way he would have, clearly, liked. 

“Or was it with my fingers?” I asked, rising up above him again, reaching to slick two magically-lubed fingers into his welcoming opening, slowly, staring down at him as his eyes slid shut and he positively keened in lust as my fingers twisted into him, twirling to find that spot, twisting again, just for the satisfaction of brushing that bundle of nerves again. 

“Draco,” he complained, eyes snapping open to look up at me frantically as I withdrew. 

“I can’t decide that,” he gasped, hips working to find my fingers again. 

“Of course you can,” I assured him, lowering myself to lap at his hole again, following the covetous lick with a slow slide of my middle finger deep inside. 

Harry let out a wall-shattering moan above me, and I thanked the gods that I’d thought to put up a permanent quieting charm around my flat. 

“Which do you want?” I asked again, leaning back, looking up, watching my Harry struggle with his decision.

“I want both,” he decided, frowning impatiently as I watched him from between his thighs. 

“Well, clearly,” I agreed, lapping at him again, moaning at the positively addictive taste of him on my tongue. 

“But we don’t always get _everything_ we want,” I continued, smoothing over that sweet furl with a finger. 

“Sometimes, we have to decide what’s really important.”

Harry groaned and threw an arm over his face.

A coping mechanism, I was coming to learn, watching to be sure I wasn’t sending my sweet Harry too far over the edge. 

I petted his thigh, bending over to rain kisses up his abdomen, working my way up, finally kissing into his mouth again. 

Fuck, but would I ever tire of Harry’s mouth? 

“So, Harry,” I sighed, detaching myself from his mouth reluctantly. 

“Which will it be?” 

Harry whimpered against my mouth, arms and legs reaching around me again. 

“Both,” he insisted.

“No, kitten,” I scolded gently, kissing him again. “You don’t get to have both.” 

“I _want_ both,” he insisted petulantly, scowling up at me. 

“Harry, pet,” I sighed, lowering my mouth to his again, tangling my tongue with his. 

“I would love nothing more than to give you both,” I assured him. 

“Then do it,” he begged, arms wrapping around me, pulling me close. “Give me both. I don’t want to decide.” 

“But Harry,” I murmured, still raining kisses down on his sweet mouth, hands pulling his legs more tightly around me. 

“Making decisions can be a good thing,” I reasoned, pulling back to study him, absolutely wrecked, before me. 

“Helps us decide what really matters,” I added, kneeling and allowing myself to lick a stripe from his hole, all the way up his crack, swiping daintily at the seam between his bollocks, up his cock, before slurping it down, two fingers driving into his opening as I did so. 

“Fuck,” he cried, hands clasping to my head in an effort to keep me there.

“Draco, _please_ ” he begged, eyes locking on mine frantically as I rose once more between his thighs. 

“Mouth or fingers, kitten,” I insisted petting the insides of his thighs, coaxing them open so that Harry was spread out before me, like a mouth-watering display. 

“I,” he gasped. “I can’t… I can’t decide,” he whinged, eyes pleading. 

“Yes, you can,” I assured him, pulling myself from the grasp of his legs wrapped tightly around me. 

“Sometimes, if you don’t make a decision, you get nothing at all,” I continued, stepping completely out of his embrace, making as though I had every intention of returning to the other corner of my reception. 

“No!” Harry cried out, sitting up, hands clutching the end of the table, eyes flaring dangerously, the lights in my flat dimming dangerously. 

“I want _you_ , Draco,” he all but cried out. “ _Need_ you, you fucking bastard!” 

Shit. 

This wasn’t what I was expecting. 

“Don’t fucking tease me anymore, you fucking arsehole!” 

I glanced back at him, still wrecked, chest heaving, green eyes staring who knows what level of curses into me, teeth all but tearing into that ridiculously plump bottom lip of his. 

“ _Need_ me?” I echoed, staring down at him, still not able to comprehend or control whatever the fuck was happening here.

“You… you’re… I,” he gasped, arms reaching for me, then stopping, suddenly. 

“ _Please_ , Draco,” he sighed, body relaxing, sinking back to splay across the table, those green eyes staring up at me helplessly. 

“Harry,” I could only sigh as I stepped back towards him, leaning in to swirl my tongue into his mouth again. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” I muttered minutes later, finally coming up for air. 

“Yes,” Harry agreed, hips canting up to meet my own, and I couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Want your fingers, Malfoy,” he gasped out, arms wrapping once more around my neck, groaning out, as I pushed into him with two fingers. 

“Like that,” I gasped, pulling them slowly from his body, watching as his arse clenched around me.

“Mmm,” he groaned, hips moving in a futile effort to keep my fingers lodged inside of him. 

I stared, eyes riveted, as my fingers pumped in and out of his impossibly tight arse, adding a third when he’d loosened up a bit. 

“Fuck, Harry,” I murmured, watching as he writhed and wriggled against them, still moving slowly and surely in and out of him. 

“Faster,” he gasped, shoving his hips against my fingers, eyes meeting mine, desperate.

“No,” I countered, withdrawing them as he only tried to impale himself further.

Merlin, but he was impossibly fun. 

“You already told me you wanted it slow,” I reminded him, fingers dipping slowly into him, twirling as they slid all the way in, working again on the slow slide out. 

“Nngh,” he groaned, lifting his hips in an effort to drive himself deeper onto me, one hand reaching down to grasp my wrist, holding it in place as he began to fuck himself onto my fingers earnestly. 

“You fucking _slut_ , Harry,” I sighed, unable to take my eyes from the sight of Harry’s hole all but devouring my fingers. 

“ _Your_ fucking slut,” he countered, hips still working their way up and down my fingers, my hand kept all but immobile by the death grip he had on my wrist. 

Fuck. 

“Yes,” I groaned, eyes sliding shut, my other hand reaching down to grasp at my prick, desperately stroking in time to my fingers being pumped helplessly in and out of his tight arse.

“Draco,” he whispered, and my eyes shot up to meet his. 

“Please,” he moaned, hand still grasping my wrist as his arse worked itself slowly up and down my curling fingers.

“ _Yes_ ,” I groaned, eyes sliding shut.

It was too much. 

“Draco,” Harry said again, withdrawing almost fully then stilling himself on me, hand still locked tightly around my wrist, ensuring I couldn’t drive my fingers back into him no matter how hard I tried.

“Harry,” I begged, bending down and allowing myself a leisurely lick up his cock. 

“Arse,” he ground out, hand tightening around my wrist, still held against his hole. 

“Let me in, kitten,” I sighed, lowering myself to lap at his pucker, stretched tightly around my fingers. 

“I chose your _fingers_ , Draco,” Harry reminded me, pulling his bottom slightly away from my greedy mouth.

“Get that filthy mouth of yours away from me,” he chided, hand removing itself from my wrist only to grasp onto my chin, lifting me away from him.

The fucking bastard. 

“And, if I remember correctly,” Harry continued, legs wrapping around me, arms tangling around my neck to draw me nearer.

“You promised to fuck my brains out,” he challenged, eyes flashing.

I gave in and pushed into him, pressing forward steadily, feeling him open around me.

Fuck Morgana and all she deemed sacred.

Harry’s arse should have, in all honesty, been categorised as a top-level secret weapon. 

“Harry,” I groaned, giving up all pretence and burying myself fully into his arse, relishing in the tight heat and velvet surrounding me.

“ _Fuck_ ,” I ground out, enjoying the slide in and out of his slick opening, mouth fastening to his again as he pressed up into me.

“Draco,” he managed, mouth attached to mine. 

“Don’t stop,” he added. “I need you.” 

Merlin, help me.

I had to try to last a _minute_ , at least. 

“You have me,” I admitted, throwing all caution aside.

“Good,” Harry responded, squeezing around me, limbs tightening as he lifted his lips towards me once more.

“ _Fuck_ , Harry,” I ground out, pumping my hips into him, eyes snapping shut at the impossibly tight, slippery heat of him. 

“Yes,” he moaned, hips rising to meet mine.

“Yours,” he gasped, limbs tightening around me.

“ _Mine,”_ I all but growled, driving into him relentlessly until I felt my limbs tighten and lock up, my orgasm taking over, sighing in relief as I felt Harry’s release splashing between us, slicking the friction between our bodies as we continued to grind against each other, slowing, but not stopping, as the orgasmic wave we were riding crested and spread over us, surrounding us in warm, post-orgasmic bliss.

“Fuck, Draco,” Harry sighed, still holding me close, refusing to unwrap his arms or legs from me. “Where do you even come up with these ideas?” 

“I didn’t hear you complaining,” I countered, turning my head to kiss him softly.

“Pretty sure I was complaining the entire time, git,” he sniggered, finally releasing me. 

I stood, stretching my arms up above my head looking down at him as he sat up, eyes watching me. 

Shit. 

Now we were going to be awkward. 

“Did you mean it?” he asked softly. “What you said?”

“That you’re an incorrigible slut?” I taunted, looking anywhere but at those impossibly earnest, open, green eyes. “Absolutely.” 

He gave a little laugh then turned serious again.

“Draco.” 

I could feel him staring at me and I finally relented, placing my hands on either side of his hips, forcing myself to meet his gaze directly.

“Every single word,” I told him, entirely honest, for once.

Harry’s breath hitched a little at that but his gaze didn’t falter. 

“So did I.”

The gravity of what we’d both just admitted hit me then, and I glanced away from him momentarily, before glancing back down at him. 

He was still staring up at me with those goddamned eyes of his, grinning like an idiot.

“Well, that was easy,” he quipped, brows quirking up. 

“Yeah,” I laughed a bit because he had a point. 

Why the fuck had any of this seemed so difficult before?

Harry’s hands came up to wrap around my neck again, drawing me closer, and my breath caught as he tilted his head, anticipating his lips meeting mine.

I sighed as my lips gently caught his between my own, eyes sliding shut as we separated briefly, before joining again, tongues sliding slowly between lips to lap gently at each other, seeking and retreating in turn. 

Our first kiss, really. 

“Your mouth ought to be illegal, Malfoy,” Harry accused, mouth still seeking mine despite his words. “Literally everything you do and say with it is positively sinful.” 

He was one to talk. 

“You’d better hope not,” I said, instead, still kissing him, because now that he knew he was _my_ Harry, why would I even try to stop? “You’d be racking up quite the crime spree, what with how much you seem to like it.” 

Harry broke away from me then to chuckle, green eyes smirking up at me.

“Oh, they’d forgive me,” he challenged confidently. “I’m the Boy Wonder, after all.” 

He winked cheekily as he slid off the table, pressing his body up against mine as we met for a proper snog. 

“Cheeky git,” I murmured and Harry grinned up at me.

“ _Your_ cheeky git,” he corrected, snuggling his head into the crook of my neck. 

Holy Hecate, was this really happening?

“We should probably talk,” I commented, turning to breathe in the scent of his hair. 

It smelled different, and I wondered if Harry had followed my instructions and bought proper shampoo and conditioner. 

“Yeah,” he agreed, although he didn’t sound any more eager than I did. 

Harry stretched up on his toes again, rubbing his nose against mine, and I instantly forgave every other adorable couple I’d ever mentally cursed for doing something that looked so stupid because of _course_ it was socially acceptable and wonderful to rub your nose up against someone else's when _Harry_ did it. 

“Any chance of having that conversation in your bathroom?” he asked, eyes sparkling hopefully. “A shower sounds wonderful, and I was thinking I could probably use another lesson on how to shampoo properly.”   
  


***

Several minutes later, I was once again rinsing shampoo from Harry’s hair, looking down at his handsome face, smiling blissfully as the warm water and my hands made their way through his locks.

“Mmm,” he sighed when I leaned down to press a light kiss to his mouth. “What was that for?” 

I shrugged.

“Wanted to.” 

He smiled again, closing his eyes as he rocked back onto his heels, trusting me to hold him as the last of the shampoo left his hair. 

“I’m sorry,” he said suddenly, green eyes snapping open, grabbing onto my hands and pulling them to drape around his neck as he stood upright. 

“I was a right arse last time I saw you,” he clarified, wincing slightly. “From what I can even remember, anyway.” 

“It… was a pretty shitty evening,” I admitted, not quite able to return his gaze at that moment. 

“I was so drunk,” he groaned, shutting his eyes and lifting his face up to the spray of the rainforest shower. 

“Not that that’s any kind of excuse, mind,” he clarified, looking back at me, eyes open and earnest. “But, for what it’s worth, I am truly sorry, and I… understand that it asked a lot of you.” 

I swallowed thickly. 

“Erm, thanks.”

I meant it, too. 

But fuck, if there was one thing I never hoped to experience ever again, it was those thirty minutes waiting for Harry to arrive at my flat after he’d called me, completely sloshed. 

I’d had the feeling, almost immediately, that he was coming from another bloke's. 

Then he’d arrived, and I’d seen some of his memories from the evening.

It was awful, sometimes, being a skilled Legilimens, often seeing and delving into things you really had no desire to know about.

Don’t get me wrong.

I was no Queenie Goldstein, but I often found it hard to stay out of the minds of others when they were drunk, high, or otherwise mentally compromised. 

I supposed sometimes people didn’t only mindlessly blab with their mouths.

“What about the time before?” The words were out of my mouth before I’d even thought them through.

Harry’s eyes started, and his mouth dropped open just a bit. 

“I’m sorry,” I said, immediately. “I wasn’t meaning it like that. It’s just…” 

“I’ve been a right jerk the past few times we’ve seen each other, I know.” 

I looked over at him, relieved, to be entirely honest.

“Yeah.” 

“Partly, I was really hoping to find a bloke that would make me forget about you,” Harry answered, eyes locked on mine. “And partly I was trying not to be a Gryffindor.” 

He shrugged and rolled his eyes.

“I still don’t even know what that means.” 

I couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up and out of me at that.

“I don’t either,” I confided, looking over at Harry sheepishly. 

Harry glared back, a tiny smile playing at his lips letting me know he wasn’t _too_ upset.

“Git,” he muttered, throwing a washcloth at me. “I was trying so hard, too.” 

He stretched suddenly, a tremendous yawn taking over his features.

“We ought to call it a night,” I suggested. “We can talk more over breakfast tomorrow.” 

“Mmmm,” Harry sighed, all but falling into my proffered arms, letting me towel him off with one of the giant, fluffy bath sheets I kept warmed near the showers. 

“‘M sleepy,” he murmured, slumping against me, eyes already flickering shut. 

“I know, kitten,” I replied, stroking the back of his head as he leaned even further into me. “It’s been a long day, hmm?” 

“Mmm,” he sighed as I wrapped my arms around him, then, using a featherweight charm, picked him up and carried him to the bed, wordlessly drawing the covers back so I could set him down. 

I removed the towel and drew the covers back up on his side of the bed before crawling in beside him, remembering to cast my cooling charm, before drawing the duvet up to my chin, reaching over to cradle my Harry back against me. 

He was already asleep, and I followed quickly behind. 


	14. Breakfast and New Beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First, my apologies.  
> I'm pretty sure this is the longest it's taken me to post a chapter, and I know I always hate it when I have to wait. 
> 
> I will absolutely, unabashedly, play the Covid-19 card; it's been a harrowing week with work, and family, and friends.
> 
> Most are safe and fine, but it's been a crazy week. 
> 
> On that note, I hope you and yours have all been well. 
> 
> Secondly, and, more importantly (at least, as far as this fic is concerned) I have a clear picture of where I'd like this fic to go, but would appreciate any and all input on how the friends will react.  
> Hermione, Ron, Blaise, and Pansy. 
> 
> I am open to suggestions.  
> I may or may not take your suggestion!  
> Obviously, I appreciate your suggestions!
> 
> As always, I appreciate any and all feedback and hope you and yours are all doing well, wherever you are.

_Sunday Morning_

23 _August 2009_

_Harry's POV_

I woke next morning wrapped around a warm, muscular body, and it took a second to remember the events of the night prior.

Once I did, I couldn’t help but burrow even more into Draco’s welcoming heat, all but smothering my face in his neck, inhaling deeply to revel in that ridiculous, undoubtedly, expensive cologne he used mixed with the musky, somehow sweet scent of just _him_. 

“Mmm,” he sighed, still sleeping, body pressing somehow closer to mine, and I allowed myself the luxury of stretching my body alongside him, pressing into him, tilting my face up to look at his. 

He was positively angelic. 

Fuck me, how did someone as deliciously naughty as Draco Malfoy look so beatific while sleeping? 

“Draco,” I murmured, feeling him hardening against my thigh. 

“Mmph.” 

Still, his hips ground slowly into mine, so I decided I should continue. 

“Draco,” I tried again, still gazing at his face, sweet and soft as he slept on. 

“Sleeping,” he mumbled and I could hardly hold back my snigger. 

Sleepy, barely conscious Draco was positively wonderful. 

Draco rolled towards me, right arm sliding further beneath my neck, left wrapping slowly up around my back, all while his left leg threw itself over my hip, all three limbs working to pull and press me even closer to him.

I was Draco Malfoy’s live, life-sized teddy bear, apparently. 

And even though Draco himself might have been sleeping, that magnificent cock of his certainly was not.

I allowed myself to wriggle up him a bit, aligning my own hardening cock against his, stifling my gasp at the contact.

Beside me, Draco sighed contentedly and pressed back, urging me to continue. 

Smirking to myself, I licked at my palm, coating it, before snaking my hand down between us, not an easy feat with Draco still holding me tightly against him. 

I wrapped my hand as well as I could around both our lengths and began stroking lightly, ignoring the awkward bend of my wrist that was sure to start cramping. 

“Hmm,” Draco was still, technically, asleep, but it didn’t seem as though he would be for long, given the way his hips were beginning to rock up into my hand more steadily. 

Suddenly, a hand clamped over my own, stopping the leisurely wank I’d been so keen to enjoy. 

I made a small noise of complaint as Draco dragged my hand from both our cocks, tugging it up over my head as his body pressed into mine, urging me to roll onto my back. 

At the same time, his right hand reached between us to grab my left arm, bringing it up to join the other above my head, where he grasped both my wrists in his right hand letting the other trail slowly down my arm, across my shoulder, to cup my face.

“Morning,” he murmured, smiling down at me, his thumb stroking along my jawline absently. 

“Morning,” I replied, leaning into the caress, eyes still locked on his face. 

His grey-blue eyes were still a tad unfocused from sleep, his hair was a rumpled, adorable mess and I suddenly felt very privileged to be amongst those who’d ever seen Draco like this, still tousled and soft from sleep when he’d first woke up. 

“I like you like this,” I blurted out as his hand began to travel down my front coming to settle on my hip. “You’re adorable.” 

Malfoy’s eyes had been following his hand as it traced its path down to my waist, but now they shot back up at me, brows raised.

“Right,” he responded. “ _That’s_ the compliment I was aiming for…” 

“No,” I tried to backtrack, straining up against his hand still pinning my arms above my head. “I didn’t mean it like that.” 

Malfoy only chuckled as he bent to kiss his way down my torso, right hand gently trailing down my arm to cradle my neck before following his left hand, both sliding over my hips and down my thighs, gently urging me to let my legs fall open so he could lodge himself properly between them. 

When he reached my cock, he tilted his head and gave the head of it a delicate swirl with the tip of his tongue before sucking it into his mouth, tongue still swirling around as he glanced up at me, smirking.

“Do I look _adorable_ now?” he teased, mouth popping off for a brief moment before returning to suck me down again, then releasing me, tongue darting out to lap at my slit, grey eyes watching me, looking decidedly anything but adorable. 

“Nngh, _Malfoy_ ,” I protested, arching up, hands tangling themselves into his hair, trying to pull that wicked mouth of his back to my eager cock. 

“If it’s any consolation, you’re rarely what I’d call adorable,” I added, hips still lifting off the mattress, seeking any contact with the silky, wet heat of his mouth. 

“Oh, I’m _Malfoy_ again, am I?” he demanded, sliding his body up mine, eyes glaring down at me indignantly as his right hand slowly wrapped around my aching prick, loosely circling it as he ran his hand gently up and down its length, barely touching it. 

His left hand grasped by hands back above my head and I groaned again, hips trying to fuck up into his loose fist, hoping, in vain, to get more friction. 

“ _Draco_ ,” I corrected, eyes snapping open to look at him. 

Was he teasing? 

Or was he actually upset that I’d called him Malfoy? 

He leaned in, mouth capturing mine in the briefest of kisses, perfectly designed to have me arching up against him once again, face turning to follow after his, already desperate for more.

“Draco,” I murmured again, watching him, because, really, it was all I _could_ do. 

His grey-blue eyes seemed to be smiling down at me, and his mouth was also curved up in an actual smile, hand still continuing with its purposefully unsatisfying wank job. 

“Please,” I whispered, eyes dropping to his mouth, then lifting back up to meet his own. 

“Hmm,” he pretended to ponder, gaze dropping off to the side. 

“I don’t know, Harry,” he sighed finally, hands releasing both my wrists and cock as he sat up beside me, clasping his hands together and raising his arms above his head as he arched into a stretch that would have made an actual cat fucking jealous. 

He turned his head to peer down at me over his shoulder, body still held in that stupid stretch that made sure I could see just how fucking gorgeous and un-fucking-adorable he was. 

“I mean, first, you call me adorable,” he accused, arms dropping, twisting to face me so he could smirk at me more convincingly. 

“ _Then_ you go and call me Malfoy…” 

He pretended to shake his head in dismay. 

“And let’s not forget, you started this whole mess by completely disregarding a very important lesson,” he added. 

He set his right elbow in the palm of his left hand, resting his chin on the thumb of his right, his index finger tapping absently at his lip, pretending to be deep in thought. 

“What was it they taught us at that silly school, again?” he mused, still pretending to think. “Something cautionary about waking dragons?” 

I burst out laughing half sitting up I was laughing so hard, relieved that Draco wasn’t actually upset like I’d worried. 

“I’d hardly call that tickling, Draco,” I groaned, flopping back down, running a hand through my hair and sniggering. 

“Still,” he shrugged, sliding himself down so he was leaning on one elbow over me, eyes sparkling mischievously.

“You shouldn’t wake a dragon if you’re not willing to suffer the consequences.” 

“Consequences?” I echoed worriedly. “What consequences?”

Malfoy’s brain was certainly able to come up with some interesting consequences, not that I minded, clearly.

But I’d really been looking forward to sweet, schmoopy morning sex. 

Why’d I have to go muck everything up by telling him how adorable he was with rumpled hair? 

“I’m starving,” Draco was saying, standing from the bed and sauntering towards the bathroom. “Let’s go grab breakfast.”

“It’s on me,” he added, angling his head back to wink at me. 

My jaw dropped. 

I couldn’t even speak as I watched him, mouth opening and shutting a few times as I sputtered some unintelligible protest at his retreating back.

Surely he wasn’t serious. 

Breakfast _now_?

I glanced back down at my cock, still hard and demanding attention, despite the comedic lull in our morning fondling session, then back at Malfoy, who was leaning in the bathroom doorway smirking back at me. 

His cock was no less eager than my own, giving me a glimmer of hope because he was, clearly, only joking. 

“Unless you had something else in mind, _Potter_ ,” he taunted, eyes daring me. 

To do what, I had no idea. 

But when had I ever backed down from a challenge from Malfoy? 

I smirked back, raising an eyebrow as he suddenly levitated a few inches off the floor and began to float towards the bed.

Mobilicorpus was really quite the useful charm. 

“Hey,” he yelped, arms flailing in protest. 

I released him when his legs connected with the mattress, allowing him to tumble unceremoniously in a heap beside me.

He tried to scowl up at me but ended up collapsing again in a fit of giggles, face turning up at me, decidedly _just_ this side of adorable with its expression of mirth. 

“You absolute twat,” he chided, clambering over to straddle me, mouth capturing mine for a languid kiss. “Always have to get exactly what you want, hmm?” 

Draco began doing that thing where he began to lick the briefest and barest of kisses into my mouth, driving me absolutely insane. 

I growled in protest, arms reaching up to hold his head in place, forcing him to kiss me properly, tongues battling, hips grinding our cocks against each other as we groaned into each other’s mouths, the kiss going from leisurely to frantic in no time. 

“What,” I demanded, licking into Draco’s mouth, “makes you,” another pause as I pulled my tongue back into my own mouth, still tangling with his as he followed, “think this is,” Draco’s tongue swirled around my own, “ _exactly_ what I want?” I managed to grind out, struggling to get the words out while determined to continue kissing Draco. 

Draco rolled over, pulling me down on top of him, slowing the kiss, that talented tongue of his delving into my mouth and retreating, coaxing me to follow him back to that unhurried, almost lazy exploration of lips, mouth, teeth, and tongue he’d set out earlier. 

He rolled again, pinning me beneath him, my legs automatically circling his waist, pulling him closer against me. 

He groaned into me, hips rolling down into mine.

“Then what is it that you want?” he asked softly, lips still returning to capture mine briefly, the barest hint of tongue teasing at my lower lip before retreating. 

Then back again, the same teasing, soft whisper of a kiss.

And again. 

I was barely aware of the whimpers of protest I was making. 

Or maybe they were encouragement.

I couldn’t even be sure anymore. 

“What is it my sweet Harry wants?” he asked again, still kissing me. 

I moaned and attached my mouth to his, once more demanding a proper kiss which he, again, delivered beautifully, tongue delving into my mouth, swirling and teasing, inviting my own to play and tangle with his. 

“I love it when you call me that,” I sighed as he broke the kiss to begin licking and sucking down my neck, deepening the marks he’d started last night. 

“What?” he murmured, hand tangling in my hair, gently tugging my head to one side to give him better access. 

“ _Your_ Harry,” I replied, one hand threading itself through his silken hair, urging him to continue nipping and marking me, the other trailing down his back, reaching down to fondle his arse, pressing him into me. 

“Oh, yeah?” Malfoy nipped back up to my mouth, tongue slipping gently inside, teasing me. 

“Good,” he declared, tongue tangling lazily with mine. “Because you are.” 

It dawned on me suddenly that I had never really been _anybody’s_ Harry before. 

Sure, I had friends who cared about me. 

But we can all admit that’s different. 

And the entire wizarding world called me _their_ Harry. 

Because they’d needed protection, and I’d provided it. 

Their _saviour_. 

And I’d been more than willing to save them. 

But I’d never been anybody’s Harry because they wanted only to care for _me._

 _“Draco_ ,” I sighed, threading both hands through his hair as he once again began to trail kisses down my front, pausing to lick and suck at the hollow of my hipbones, hands gently pushing my thighs apart as his mouth kissed and sucked down my groin, purposely avoiding my cock. 

“Hmm,” he teased, as his hands spread me open before him, leaning in to give a leisurely lick around my arsehole.

“Is this more what you had in mind?” he asked, tongue lapping at my hole, swirling around it, teasing, coaxing me open. 

I couldn’t even answer. 

Just moaned, using my hands to try to shove his face closer.

“Was that a yes, Harry?” he teased, still using just the tip of his tongue to lave at my entrance before ducking skilfully out of the way of my demanding hands to stare up at me. 

“Draco,” I begged, hands scrabbling at the sheets beneath me. “ _Please.”_

 _“_ I suppose we _could_ call this breakfast,” he mused, brow furrowing in thought. 

“I’m certainly eating,” he continued, returning to give a wide, slow lick over my hole, continuing up, giving a teasing suck at the soft patch between it and my dick, then tilting up to suck gently at each of my bollocks. 

“And, I suppose it’s still ‘ _on_ _me_ ’.” 

Draco smirked up at me, giving me an unquestionably wicked wink before returning to lap at my entrance again and I could feel my face burning. 

Merlin, how did he even _think_ those sorts of thoughts, much less _say_ them. 

“Harry,” he chuckled, still giving leisurely little licks around and over my hole. “You’re blushing so hard, I can practically see it from down here.” 

“You’re filthy, Draco,” I managed, still blushing. 

Still pushing back against him, silently asking for more. 

“You _love_ it,” he replied, licking at my hole again, hands kneading at my cheeks, pushing my arse open as he whirled his tongue around my opening, hands continuing up my thighs, pushing them even further up and open so I lay completely spread out before him. 

“Fuck, Harry,” he sighed, bending down to lap at me, tongue swirling but not quite entering, on fucking purpose, to make me cry out and jerk my hips up against his mouth like a fucking needy cunt. 

“Do you have any idea how fucking delicious you are?” he groaned, tongue giving a lewd swipe around my opening before dipping in as far as he could manage, the tip of said tongue just barely pushing through my still-tight pucker. 

“ _Please_.” 

It seemed about all I could manage under the assault of Draco’s talented tongue, still lapping and swiping at my hole. 

Leisurely. 

Like the prat had all goddamned day to work me open with that evil mouth of his. 

Draco sighed suddenly, tongue pressing harder into me, a positively wanton moan adding to the pleasure of his tongue licking wide stripes over my entrance.

He began to swirl and delve the tip of his tongue into me every few passes, pressing a soft kiss around my opening each time. 

“Harry,” he sighed again, one hand reaching up to tweak at my nipple, the other tracing down around the curve of my arse, splaying out at the small of my back, lifting me closer to him as his mouth latched around me, tongue swirling and pressing into me until I felt him push past that ring of muscle, pushing deep inside of me. 

I let out a cry as Draco began to furl his tongue in and out of me, pushing and curling inside me, kissing into my hole with a fervour that soon had me crying out for him to never, ever stop, hands tangling in his hair, pressing him to me, legs locking behind his head, pulling him in. Making sure that the bastard didn’t try to slip away again.

Draco groaned again, the vibrations seeming to run up from my arse through my entire body, stiffening his tongue and sliding the entire length of it slowly up inside of me, the warm, wet, velvet of it pushing so far inside that I positively keened and arched up off the mattress, driving him in even further.

Draco only groaned once more, withdrawing before driving back in just as slowly, as though he was savouring the slick, slow slide in, that brilliant tongue of his pressing and furling into me, then back out, and in again, insisting on that infuriatingly slow pace, ignoring my cries and pleas for more. 

“ _Draco_ ,” I begged, practically incoherent. “Stop…” 

_Stop teasing,_ my brain pleaded, but I was so fucking wrecked my mouth and voice couldn’t work together to finish my thought. 

“Oh, are we done here?” Draco asked, sitting back on his heels, wiping casually at his mouth with the back of his left wrist, eyes gazing at me innocently. 

Fuck. 

How did he _do_ that? 

I’d heard, and _felt,_ all his moans of pleasure, yet here he was, staring down at me from the foot of the bed as though we were discussing traffic or the most recent petrol prices.

The fucking wanker actually stepped off the bed and made as though he was headed to the bathroom to wash up. 

“ _No_ ,” I ground out, raising up on my elbows, doing my best to glare at him as he came round the side of the bed, turning to face me, eyebrows raised expectantly. 

The only thing belying his casual, unaffected demeanour was his prick, so red it looked almost angry, sticking straight out from his body, pre-cum leaking steadily. 

“I meant…” I gasped, raising up to kneel on both knees, staring up at him beseechingly as I told myself to keep my eyes trained on his own and _not_ on his gorgeous cock. 

Course, I failed. Miserably. 

“I meant I wanted for you to stop _teasing_ me,” I managed. 

“I _wanted_ you to keep going,” I added, pouting, finally managing to look into his eyes. 

Draco’s eyes slid shut as he drew his bottom lip into his mouth and I couldn’t suppress the shiver of satisfaction that ran through me at his reaction. 

“ _Harry_ ,” he groaned, sinking back onto the bed to kneel on both knees, facing me. 

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” he asked, those blue-grey eyes giving me a look I couldn’t quite read as he crouched down on all fours, mouth lining up perfectly with my cock, just as angry, and red, and leaking as his own. 

Draco leaned forward, eyes sliding shut, as his tongue reached out to swirl at the pre-cum pooling in my slit, pressing in hungrily. 

That exquisite mouth of his wrapped longingly around the head of my cock, tongue pressing at the sensitive joining of head and shaft. 

He teased me for a moment, tongue and mouth still working the sensitive head before he began to slide down my length.

I canted my hips further into his mouth, hands reaching down to tangle in his hair, coaxing him to swallow more of me as his mouth worked, sucking and slurping in the most delicious way until I felt his throat working around me, swallowing me down, his nose nuzzling gently into my pubic hair. 

My eyes started to slide shut at just how amazing it felt, but I forced them to stay open and watch as Draco hollowed his cheeks, sucking back up my length, tongue working along the bottom of my prick. 

I suddenly had a much better picture of exactly how I looked, up on all fours before him, sucking eagerly at his cock while being fucked by a magicked dildo and I had to allow my eyes to slide shut because, _fuck,_ that image was almost too intense. 

Draco continued to suck and tease at my cock and I forced myself to open my eyes again.

To watch his sinful mouth work up and down my length.

How his eyes fluttered shut as he moaned in pleasure, sending vibrations all along my shaft. 

The eager press forward as he positively moaned the most _incredible_ moan I’d ever heard when I rolled my hips, forcing myself further down his throat. 

Draco withdrew, releasing my cock from his mouth with a moist pop, and flopped over so he was lying on his back, perpendicular to me. 

His left arm reached behind him to grab a pillow, propping it under his head so he could lick and lap at the underside of my cock. 

His left hand returned to gently stroke his length as his mouth reached the tip of mine, swirling his tongue and sucking the head back into his mouth. 

He stayed like that for a while, tongue licking and swirling, sucking sweetly every once in a while. 

I honestly couldn’t decide whether to look at his mouth or his hand, still stroking himself. 

Merlin, how was he so fucking hot? 

I reached down with my right hand to cradle his head, lifting it upwards just a tad, easing myself further into his mouth.

Draco groaned, blue-grey eyes opening to look at me as he greedily sucked my cock back down into his throat, giving another throaty moan as I held myself there, watching him. 

I began to thrust in and out of his mouth, purposefully slow, not giving in, and understanding the quiet moan of desperation he gave because… well… 

I tangled my hand in his hair, pulling just so, angling his face so that I could push deeper into his throat and he groaned again, hand sliding just a bit more quickly up and down his cock. 

I swatted his hand away, replacing it with my own, and Draco began pumping his hips up into the tight circle of my fist, groaning around my cock again. 

“Merlin, Draco,” I sighed, tugging gently at his hair, pulling him off of my cock, a line of spit stretching between the head and his mouth, looking absolutely porn-worthy. 

He didn’t respond. Verbally anyhow.

The bastard just continued to gaze up at me, reaching his evil little tongue out to caress the tip of my dick, lapping at the pre-cum, drawing it back into his mouth and sighing contentedly. 

He began to suck back down, tugging determinedly at my hand still tangled in his hair, and of _course_ , I let go. 

Because I’d have had to be dead or an idiot not to want more of that slick, warm mouth swallowing me down. 

Draco sighed and began to suck my dick in earnest, and I was completely lost in the sight and feel of him swallowing and licking at me. 

So much so that I yelped when I felt a lubed finger probing at my arsehole, pressing gently, then more insistently. 

I groaned as Draco’s finger channelled deeper inside of me, sliding in time with his mouth, still sucking and licking at my cock, his eyes closed, humming his satisfaction every so often. 

“Draco,” I groaned, as he added a second finger, twisting them to find _that_ spot. 

Fucking bastard probably knew all too well how to find that spot inside of me at this point. 

Draco was relentless, mouth sucking, and swallowing with abandon, fingers twisting in and out of my arse to match the rhythm. 

Without thinking, I set my hand to wank up and down his thick cock in time with his mouth, his fingers, _him_ , until stars literally exploded behind my eyes, and I felt Draco’s mouth working, my hips fucking frantically in and out of his mouth, as he swallowed all of me, my orgasm and my still-spasming prick. 

I was almost embarrassed until I realised that my hand was covered in his own release. 

“Mmm,” he sighed beneath me, mouth sliding from my cock as his fingers slid from my arse. “That was nice.” 

“Nice?” I glared down at him, waving a hand to clear the mess as I glared down at his blissfully orgasmic face. “That’s what you call _nice_ , Malfoy?” 

His mouth dropped open, in a perfect, round “O” of surprise, eyes widening before glancing away from me, mouth curving into a genuine smile. 

“Wonderful, _amazing_ , mind-blowing,” he amended, rolling his eyes, sitting up and pulling me towards him for a kiss. 

He rolled off the mattress and ambled towards the bathroom, glancing at me over his shoulder.

“You coming?” 

***

I entered the bathroom to see Draco on “his” side of the large, marble vanity, turned to face me and the entrance, leaning casually against it, brushing his teeth. 

“You don’t happen to have a spare lying around, do you?” I asked hopefully, glancing around as though a toothbrush might magically appear. 

Malfoy allowed his eyes to rake over me before he turned to spit neatly into the sink behind him. 

“There should be one in the cabinet,” he said, looking in the mirror, left hand reaching out for the tumbler beside the basin. 

“Fix your hair, Luv,” the mirror chided as Draco turned on the tap to fill his glass. 

“I dunno,” I interjected, opening the medicine cabinet on the right side of the wall and finding a new toothbrush sitting inside. 

I briefly wondered how many damn toothbrushes Malfoy might have on hand for such occasions as this, then shook my head as I unwrapped it. 

None of my business, and no use dwelling on it, really. 

“I like you better with your hair like this,” I continued honestly, accepting the proffered tube of toothpaste and squeezing a bit onto the brush. 

Draco snorted and bent down to splash his face with water. 

“You would.” 

“No, I mean…” I paused, lifting the toothbrush to my mouth and beginning to brush, brow furrowed as I tried to piece together my sentence.

“…that you like me better unkempt and _adorable_ than looking well kept and dapper?” he suggested, beginning to rub some sort of lather into his face, still somehow managing to smirk over at me as I spit and rinsed.

“Draco,” I rolled my eyes, turning to face him, leaning my right hip up against the sink, watching as he bent forward again to rinse his face. 

“Well,” he straightened, reaching for a face towel. “How would you know you preferred me all mussed up if you’d never seen me all done up properly?” 

He patted his face dry as he spoke, then slanted those blue-grey eyes over at me, grinning.

“Honestly, I think I like you every way,” I admitted. “Any way.” 

Draco legitimately started. 

“Shouldn’t you be getting on with your morning routine so we can finally eat?” he asked, eyes glancing back to the mirror as his hand grabbed a jar, long fingers twisting it open, fingers dipping inside to dab the cream on his face. 

I just watched as he used both hands to gently massage the cream into his skin, eyes darting over to me warily. 

“Potter…” he sighed, wiping his hands on his towel once more, hand grabbing another little jar. 

“Am I to expect that your morning routine consists of nothing more than brushing your teeth?” he demanded, dabbing some cream under his eyes with the pad of his fourth finger. 

“I’d certainly do more if you weren’t so busy distracting me,” I retorted, eyes taking their time to look over his naked body. 

Malfoy rolled his eyes, now working to style his hair into a meticulous pomade. 

A towel shot from the warming rack near the shower, coming to wrap itself around his waist. 

“Is that better?” he asked, still working a comb through his hair. 

“Sure,” I joked. “That tiny bit of fabric helps a lot.” 

Malfoy eyed me for a second, then grinned suddenly. 

Shit. 

Next second I was staring at a withered old wizard, his watery blue-ish eyes gazing back at me, a slightly familiar smirk in place.

“ _Now_ can you pay attention to… whatever it is that heathens like you do in the morning?” he asked, voice raspy, sounding as though it had worn thin due to years of use. 

“For fuck’s sake, Malfoy,” I yelped, unwittingly averting my gaze from the wrinkled, droopy skin of his torso. 

I knew it was inevitable, but wrinkly old-man body was really not something I wanted to fill my mornings with quite yet. 

“Why do you have a decrepit old-man glamour?” I demanded, leaning over and splashing my face with water, rubbing at my face vigorously. 

I straightened and glanced over to find Malfoy, thankfully unglamoured and back to his youthful, gorgeous self, staring at me apprehensively. 

“Potter,” he spat out, leaning his left hip against the vanity, arms crossing in front of him, eyes narrowing to a positively frightful glare. 

“Erm…” I managed, looking around me questioningly. Had I done something wrong? I grabbed at a spare face towel hanging from a towel holder on the wall and scrubbed it against my face and neck, then peered back at Draco. 

He was still glaring at me as he straightened and took a few steps towards me, peering at my face as though inspecting it closely.

For what, I couldn’t have told you. 

“Do you mean to tell me that _that’s_ what you call a morning routine?” he demanded, eyes still roaming over my face as though on the lookout for the merest imperfection.

“How is your face not an absolute, disgusting wreck right now? We’re nearly thirty, Potter,” he reminded me. “You can’t be running around like you’ve a fountain of youth to drink from in your backyard like you could when you were a bloody teenager.” 

“I have face wash back home,” I assured him, reaching out to grab his hands and pull him closer, wrapping his hands around my waist, hoping he wasn’t about to work himself into an apoplectic wreck. “I even have moisturiser. With SPF.” 

Draco’s hands were following my plan and tracing small patterns across my hips and lower back, but his eyes were still narrowed and glaring down at me suspiciously. 

“Ok, then,” he acquiesced finally, releasing me and taking a step back and starting to walk back towards the bedroom. 

“Let’s get dressed and head out. I wasn’t kidding when I said I was starving earlier.” 

“Erm… Draco?” I glanced at him as he turned to me expectantly. “Erm… I don’t have any clothes. Just my pyjamas.” 

His text had caught me mid-wank, and I’d barely even thought to put those on. 

“Well, you’ll just have to borrow something, then,” he reasoned, shrugging. 

“Yeah, but,” I paused in my own journey across his enormous bathroom. “You’ve got a good 10cm on me. I’m going to look like a little kid trying to play dress-up.” 

I frowned just imagining how ridiculous I’d look in one of Draco’s button-ups, the sleeves dangling well past my hands as I tripped on the too-long hem of a pair of his elegant trousers. 

Draco had closed the distance between us, arms wrapping around me, one hand cradling my face and turning up to look at him.

“Harry,” he sighed, shaking his head and smiling fondly. “For about the millionth time, Luv, are you _sure_ you’re a wizard?” 

“Honestly? Sometimes, no.” 

It was the truth. 

Draco kissed the tip of my nose and sauntered off towards the bedroom, me following close behind. 

I was genuinely frightened of seeing Draco Malfoy’s closet. 

Or maybe I was just preparing my nerves in advance for the day when he might someday see mine. 

He flung open the closet doors on the wall opposite his bed and waved a hand so that it quadrupled in size. Of course. 

My jaw dropped. 

There was no way in hell Malfoy was ever getting a peep inside of my closet.

It looked like a showroom with two, long, uncluttered racks running around the periphery of the room holding an array of button-downs and jackets on the top rack, while the bottom was dedicated to the largest private collection of trousers I think I’d ever seen. 

The racks were interrupted by a wide, built-in shoe rack on the wall facing the entrance, with a slim drawer and recessed cubby area topping the rack, offering a space to place accessories or a mobile while dressing. 

A large island in the middle of the room held a massive set of drawers and shelves.

A range of t-shirts and jeans were folded neatly on the shelves, and I assumed the drawers held pants, socks, and other such items. 

Malfoy was grabbing a pair of trousers and pulling them on, eyes perusing the racks before him as though one pair of grey trousers were so much different from the next.

“Here,” he said, finally, snatching a pair off its hanger and turning to me. He stopped short when he saw my face, and glanced nervously at the walls surrounding us, a sheepish smile spreading across his features. 

“I’m guessing your closet looks nothing like this…” 

“Nope,” I agreed emphatically, shaking my head, eyes still taking in the contents of Draco’s massive closet. 

“You have a salmon-coloured suit?” I asked, sniggering, eyes falling on a soft pink linen blazer with matching trousers hung neatly below it. “How gay _are_ you?” 

“ _Very_ ,” he replied, all but leering at me, as he held the proffered trousers out at me again. “Or had you not noticed?” 

I rolled my eyes and grabbed the trousers, although I had to admit I thought the suit would probably look smashing on Malfoy, with his pale colouring and light blond hair. 

“Here’s a shirt, as well.” 

Draco tossed me a dark-green button-down, smirking at me.

“I’ve had it for years. Since Hogwarts,” he informed me, explaining the dark green colour. “It’ll go so nicely with your eyes,” he added, batting his eyelashes at me as pulled on a light blue shirt and began doing up the buttons. 

“Thanks,” I muttered, pulling on the trousers, which, as predicted, were about 10 cm too long and just a tad too loose in the waist. “Because I, clearly, always take the time to match my wardrobe to my eyes.” 

Draco sniggered, eyes roaming over me, taking in the too-long trousers and the too-big shirt hanging from my small frame. 

“You were right,” he stated, eyes sparkling with laughter. “You _do_ look like you’re playing dress-up.” 

I scowled at him and began to roll up the sleeves on the shirt, but he stopped me, reaching out to gently take my hands within his own as he leaned down to kiss me. 

“Shh, kitten,” he murmured. “I was only teasing. Now stand back and let me fix it, ok?” 

I obeyed and took a step back from him, doing my best to maintain my scowl but ultimately failing when I saw the genuine smile on Draco’s face as his eyes continued to trail over my body. 

He withdrew his wand, eyes narrowing as he took in the parts of his clothing that were too big, and swished the wand at me a few times.

I felt the shirt begin to shrink, the shoulders tightening across my shoulder blades, the sleeves shortening, cuffs encircling my wrists properly. 

Another swish and the trousers also shortened, the waistband and pant legs tightening to fit me. 

Malfoy’s eyes did another once-over, and he pocketed his wand, seeming satisfied.

“It’s not Savile Row, but it’ll do.” 

***

It was a short, fifteen-minute walk from Draco’s flat to Hush Mayfair, one of his favourite breakfast spots in the area. 

I’d heard of it, though had never been, assuming it would be much too posh for my liking, but I was pleased to be wrong.

We were welcomed and seated at a small table in the corner of a spacious terrace under the shade of one of the several enormous white umbrellas providing shelter from the late summer sun. 

The space was already humming with the conversations of the other diners tucking into a well-deserved Sunday brunch, bottles of bubbly and Bloody Marys present at nearly every table. 

“I can’t believe I’ve never been here,” I confided, opening my menu and Draco smiled.

“Glad to help correct that.” 

“What do you recommend?” I asked, perusing the menu, already seeing several items that looked tempting. 

Draco shrugged.

“We’re definitely sharing an order of the olives,” he informed me. “They’re stuffed with feta and then fried, and they're absolutely to-die-for.” 

“Sounds great.” 

Honestly, though. Who didn’t love cheesy, fried things?

“Other than that,” Draco’s eyes flicked over the menu thoughtfully. “Anything from their brunch selection is great. The Aubergine Schnitzel is good, too, as is their burger. You’ve got to get it with the truffled Brie,” he added, eyes snapping up to meet mine, as though daring me to order the burger plain. 

“The fish goujons are perfectly done, and the Moules Marinière are great, too…” he paused and rolled his eyes. “Honestly, I don’t think you can go wrong with whatever you choose. It’s all bloody fantastic. I realised I’ve just literally listed off everything I’ve ever tried.” 

“What are you having?” 

I was terrible at deciding what to order. 

Maybe it was because I’d never eaten out as a kid with the Dursley’s, but being able to choose what to eat from such an array of options seemed like such a luxury and I was always tempted by too many dishes to make choosing easy. 

“The scrambled eggs with smoked salmon,” he replied easily, as though his decision had been made even before we’d arrived at the restaurant.

“Erm… ok.” I glanced at the menu again, feeling a slight panic rise as I noticed a server headed in our direction. 

My panic must have been obvious, because Malfoy’s hand reached across the table, taking one of my own and caressing it reassuringly. 

He gave me a quick wink of encouragement before turning his face up to greet our server. 

His hand continued to hold mine, thumb gliding absently over my fingers. 

“Morning,” he greeted, smiling down at us, clasping his hands behind his back. “My name is Colin, I’ll be your server today. Anything you’d care to drink besides water?”

“Yes, please,” Draco smiled up at him, then turned to look at me again. “Do you like champagne?”

“Of course.” 

Did people not like champagne? Was that an actual thing?

“We’ll have a bottle of the Blanc de Blancs,” he told Colin, who nodded approvingly. “And an order of the fried olives to start, please?” 

“Absolutely,” Colin replied. “Were you ready to order the main course now or did you want me to go grab that champagne first?” 

Draco glanced over at me again.

“I’m ready,” I replied, grinning apprehensively up at our server. “I think….”

Draco chuckled and released my hand.

“I’ll have the scrambled eggs and smoked salmon,” he ordered. 

“Erm… I’ll have the avocado toast,” I decided finally.

It’d been that or the burger.

Or the Eggs Benedict. 

I’d never had avocado until a few years ago and now it was my new favourite food group. Plus, it came topped with Hollandaise, which always made me feel like I was having a proper, decadent brunch. 

“That’s actually my favourite,” Colin informed me, winking consiprationally, and I sighed, feeling as though I’d made a good choice. 

“I’ll be right back with that champagne,” he added, collecting our menus and heading away.

“Do you always look so panicked when ordering?” Draco asked, head tilted to one side, eyes searching my own as he took a sip of water. 

“I dunno,” I replied. “Probably. There are always so many choices and they all sound wonderful. How do you decide so easily?” 

He shrugged.

“Not sure,” he replied. 

“Blaise is the same way,” he went on. “I mean, like you. He can’t ever decide, then he’ll say he’s getting one thing, and change his mind the last minute right when the server gets to him.” 

“Can you believe he and Ron are partners?” I asked suddenly, and Draco chuckled knowingly.

“No,” he replied honestly. “Almost as much as I can believe you and I are here now.” 

“Right,” I winced, shaking my head. 

“What do you think their reactions will be?” I asked, grinning. “Do you think they’ll be surprised?” 

“No.” 

He said it almost instantly, then looked as though he wished he hadn’t. 

“I mean,” he clarified, taking another sip of water. “We’re all grown up now. I would hope we’re not the same little piss-ants who were running around Hogwarts.” 

Colin returned then with our champagne, smiling as he poured us each a glass before setting it in an ice bucket, all while assuring us that the olives would be right out, before leaving us on our own again.

We sat in silence for a few moments, awkwardly sipping at our champagne.

“That’s really nice champagne,” I commented.

Malfoy glanced over at me with an unreadable look on his face.

“They only serve the good stuff here,” he said finally. 

Merlin, how was it possible to feel so awkward with someone fully clothed while sipping champagne yet feel perfectly at ease completely starkers with his cock down your throat and a dildo up your arse. 

“Once, we stole all the clothes from Ravenclaw’s lockers during practice and they had to streak back to the castle naked,” I informed him suddenly, smiling mischievously. 

Draco started and a genuine smile spread over his face as he leaned in closer to me. 

“No fucking way,” he challenged, that delighted glint that I loved returning to his eyes. 

“That was _you_ lot? They thought it was us! We got blamed for that!” 

He was still staring at me in awe and smiling, despite that fact, so I decided to reveal a bit more.

“Of course they did,” I smiled smugly as I took another swallow of champagne, casting a quick Muffliato charm lest the tables near us wonder what we were talking about. “I knew they would assume it was you. You were set to play them that weekend, after all.” 

Malfoy fixed me with his best glare but he was still smiling and was about to respond when Colin arrived with the olives. 

I waited until he had set the plate between us and topped off our champagne before turning my attention to Draco again. 

“It turned out great for us. You both lost a ton of points and then we absolutely creamed both of you when it was our turn to play.” 

“You absolute dog,” he managed, staring at me with a mixture of admiration and irritation. 

He snatched the plate of olives out from under my reaching hand and held them out of my reach, eyes narrowing.

“No, I think these will just have to be for me,” he scolded, reaching his right hand over to pluck one of the plump, golden bites from the plate. 

“Dirty rotten cheats and pranksters don’t deserve such morsels of goodness at breakfast,” he added, popping the olive into his mouth, letting the most inappropriate moan out as he bit into the juicy, savoury treat. 

Of course, he didn’t stop just there.

Oh, no.

Malfoy made a big show of licking and sucking his thumb, index, and middle fingers clean of any crumb left from said olive, eyes watching me the entire time. 

Not wearing pants beneath my trousers might have been a bit of a mistake. 

He grabbed another olive, this time nibbling daintily at the morsel, tongue flicking out to catch any crumbs that remained on his lower lip. 

I managed to tear my eyes away from that delectable mouth of his to see blue-grey eyes sparkling at me, one brow raised in a silent challenge.

Bastard. 

“I’m not sure if it’s one of those olives or your mouth that I want, Malfoy, but I’m about to help myself to something from that side of the table.” 

I must have sounded quite serious, because Draco’s eyes widened just a fraction and he placed the plate of olives back on the table, watching me carefully as though he feared I might levitate the olives, or him, or both into my hands, Muggles surrounding us be damned. 

“Potter,” he said quietly, still watching me. “You’re making the tables vibrate.” 

Oh. 

“Sorry,” I mumbled, taking another sip of champagne and shutting my eyes, allowing some time to compose myself. 

I rarely lost control of my magic. Hadn’t, really, in years. 

Then along comes Malfoy and I’m all but rendered into a shaking, mercurial pile of hormonal wizard goo. 

“I mean, the olives are good,” Draco was saying, wisely continuing our conversation so the other tables wouldn’t suspect anything had been going on. 

“But you needn’t get so upset over them,” he chided gently, selecting an olive from the plate and lifting it to my mouth. 

His eyes dropped down to watch as I gently plucked it from his fingers, tongue gently brushing against them as I did so. 

I allowed myself a pleased smile as his eyes darkened, still watching, as he sipped at his champagne. 

The olive was perfection. 

The coating allowing just the right amount of crispy crunch before giving way to the plump, brininess of the olive and the sharp, salty tang of feta. 

“These are sublime,” I informed Draco honestly, taking a sip of champagne, marvelling at how the bubbles danced on my tongue, seeming to cut through the intense flavours of the olive, making me want more of both. 

“Dangerously so,” he agreed, popping another into his mouth and chewing thoughtfully. 

“How are you planning on telling your mates about this?” he asked, gesturing at the space between us, not knowing quite what to call any of this yet. 

“I don’t know,” I replied, taking another olive. “I hadn’t really thought about it. Why?” 

Draco shrugged, glancing up as Colin arrived with our brunch dishes. 

“I have no idea what I’m hinting at,” he began once Colin had left us alone again. Draco glanced off to the side, eyes narrowing in thought. “Or what sort of plan I mean, but I feel as though we’ve a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to have a lot of fun with our mates.” 

I couldn’t help but laugh. 

“You know, you’ve got a point,” I conceded as I cut into my avocado toast. 

“We’ll have to put our brilliant minds together to hatch the perfect plan to tell them that we’re…” I paused and glanced at him awkwardly. 

“That we’re…” I tried again.

“Fucking?” Malfoy suggested, draining the last of his champagne and picking up his fork. 

I frowned at him around my mouthful of decadent Hollandaise-bathed avocado bliss and shook my head. 

“Come on, Malfoy,” I sighed once my bite was out of the way. “I think we can both agree we’ve moved on to something a little more than just fucking.” 

He stared back at me, then he faltered and his eyes shot over to his left, as though looking for something, anything, interesting to distract him, and it hit me in a rare, blinding moment of clarity. 

Draco was nervous. 

Absolutely terrified and nervous and just as uncertain as I was. 

And, just like me, he clearly wanted whatever this was to continue, if we could ever figure out how to stop being awkward, that is. 

Those blue-grey eyes darted back over to meet my own and I saw the flicker of fear there before Malfoy managed to pull his guard back up and meet my gaze head-on.

“Sure,” he agreed finally. “But I still wouldn’t know what to call this.” 

“Well, what _do_ you want to call this?” I asked, leaning closer to leer up at him, hoping to break some tension. 

It worked and Draco allowed himself a small laugh as he took another bite of his eggs and salmon. 

“Come on, Malfoy,” I taunted, winking up at him. “Admit it. You like me. Maybe even as much as I like you.” 

He snorted and glanced over at me, rolling his eyes almost fondly. 

“Obviously.” 

“Well, when did that start?” I asked softly. “When did you start _liking_ me?”

Malfoy started, mouth open as he blinked slowly at me, then made a very concerted effort to stare off to his right, the barest hint of a blush creeping up along his cheeks. 

“Draco?” I asked, still watching him. 

He swallowed thickly and glanced back at me before licking his lips and taking a sip of water. 

“I… had a crush on you in fourth year,” he admitted finally, still not meeting my gaze. 

“Really?” I sputtered, incredulously. “Fourth year?!” 

His blush deepened and I made a mental note to try to make him blush at least once a day moving forward. 

“That was the year you made all those stupid ‘Potter Stinks’ badges,” I protested. 

Draco finally met my gaze and allowed himself a tiny smirk.

“I didn’t say I handled it well,” he defended himself. 

“Well, when did you stop?” I asked. 

He only continued to look at me, confused. 

“Having a crush on me,” I clarified. “When did you _stop_ having a crush on me?” 

He gave me that same startled look again before averting his gaze.

“I don’t know,” he replied, still looking anywhere but at me. “I mean, I suppose I just stopped seeing you everywhere after Hogwarts, so…” 

Holy. Shit. 

Draco Malfoy _liked_ me. 

“Well, damn,” I lamented, grinning across the table at him. “I wish we had figured this out back at school. You were right. We could have had a lot of fun.” 

“For some reason, I doubt you would have been amenable to that sort of proposition back then,” he smirked. 

“True,” I winced again remembering what it had been like to kiss Cho and Ginny. 

“I had no idea why people were so into this whole kissing thing,” I laughed. “I just assumed I was too stressed, what, with all the Voldemort shit going down.” 

I sighed and shook my head ruefully, glancing sheepishly up at him.

“It never crossed my mind that I might prefer blokes.” 

Malfoy frowned, piling a forkful of his eggs on a slice of sourdough and bit into it neatly.

“You never had, like, naughty thoughts? Like, a bloke that would just appear mid-wank?” 

I shook my head. 

“Honestly, I probably _was_ too stressed out. I didn’t exactly have a normal childhood.” I shrugged. “Once all the hype and craziness after the war settled down and I had time to breathe, I figured it out pretty quickly.” 

He nodded. 

“Did you ever…” I paused, not sure how to phrase my question. 

Draco raised an eyebrow expectantly. 

“Did you ever, erm… have naughty thoughts about _me?_ ” I finally blurted out. 

Draco burst out laughing.

“Merlin, Harry,” he cried, wiping at his eyes, shoulders still shaking. “What the bloody hell do you think?” 

“Erm… yes?” I guessed. “… maybe?” 

Hopefully? 

He shook his head, those eyes still locked on mine. 

How did he do that? 

Here, he was the one who just admitted to having a crush on me since fourth year and _I_ was the one stammering and blushing. 

“Quite a few of them,” he admitted finally, eyes raking over the visible parts of my body. 

“Oh.” I grinned. “Like what? Tell me. We can act them out in real life.”

I wagged my browns at him suggestively. 

He laughed again.

“Merlin, Harry, I’m pretty sure we’ve covered all of them and then some,” he assured me. “My imagination at fifteen is nothing compared to what it is now.” 

It was my turn to smirk. 

“So, how do I measure up?” I teased, leaning closer to him. 

“Am I everything you’d dreamed I would be?” 

Malfoy got that startled look on his face again, and he actually dropped his fork. 

Interesting. 

“We’ll work on it,” he shot back, eyes belying the snarky comment, which, for some reason, made me grin maniacally. 

“Oh?” I countered, letting him know that I didn’t believe him for one second. 

My mind flashed back to our first meeting, months ago, at the Henrietta Hotel. 

_“I like playing with you, Potter,” he grinned and gave a particularly well-timed, well-aimed twist of his fingers that had me moaning, arching my back and pushing back against his fingers. “Merlin, you’re even better than I could have possibly imagined. Look at you, fucking yourself on my fingers.”_

“Pretty sure I blew your silly, Hogwarts-era wank-bank out of the water at our very first meeting,” I challenged.

His eyes fluttered shut and he took a deep breath. 

“I think it’s about time we wrap brunch up,” he stated, grey-blue eyes flashing at me, leaving me with absolutely no question as to what we’d be up to once we returned to his flat. 

***

Draco hadn’t even bothered with the short walk back after we left the restaurant.

Merely dragged me a few yards away down one of the many little passageways leading off Lancashire Court, pulled me up against him for a snog that was barely decent in a public area, and next thing I knew, I was being thrown down on his mattress, absolutely starkers. 

“Draco,” I managed, staring up at him as his own clothing disappeared and he crawled up the mattress, mouth seeking mine desperately. 

“Mmm,” he murmured, tongue seeking mine as his hands explored their way down my torso, body pressing down into mine as though his sanity depended on it. 

“Need you,” he gasped, tongue licking into my mouth. 

“Want you. Now,” he added, lips sliding down to my neck, licking a path to suck at the hollow just above my collarbone.

I forgot about trying to talk and focused on trying to touch every inch of his back, his arms, his waist, that my arms could reach. 

Focused on rolling my hips up to grind my cock up against his own, whimpering at the contact. 

On arching my chest up into his mouth as he latched on to first one nipple then the other, teeth nipping, his tongue following to soothe before his mouth latched on to suck, then repeating the process again. 

“Draco,” I whinged, hands grasping at his head, unsure as to whether I was desperate to pull him closer or push him away, demanding that he continue his path, moving further down my body to where my cock strained up against him, to my opening that was already clenching from the desire to be filled by him. 

“I want you,” I gasped, hands still tangling, my body still pressing upwards as his lips trailed down my torso. 

“Already told you,” he replied, sounding just as fucking desperate, as goddamned wrecked as I did. “You have me.” 

He gave a slow swirl around the head of my prick before lowering himself between my thighs, kissing and nipping his way up first one, then the other, urging them apart. 

“Draco,” I groaned, hips bucking up at the first lick of velvet tongue against my rim. 

He wasted no time now. 

No nonsense about teasing me this time. 

Malfoy’s tongue gave a few urgent swipes around my hole before it stiffened and pushed it inside, his face all but burying itself between my arsecheeks as he reached inside, far as he could manage, before withdrawing, lapping longingly at my furl before plunging back in, tongue working viciously, Draco’s entire body rocking as he fucked me open with his tongue. 

“Draco,” I gasped again, unable to string together a more coherent sentence.

His only response was to groan against my opening, tongue stilling momentarily to withdraw and lap and swirl again before sliding back in, another groan vibrating along my insides. 

“Please,” I tried again, hands tangling in his hair, still not sure if I was begging for him to continue or move on, my body straining upwards and into his greedy mouth. 

Draco sighed and withdrew, moving to lick and suckle at my bollocks, one long finger sliding into my spit-slackened passage, burying it to the hilt before withdrawing. 

He continued to slide that single digit, not nearly enough for my greedy, whinging cock-hungry self, as his mouth trailed kisses and lewd sucks across my hipbones, down the tops of my thighs, and across to rain licks and kisses along the other side. 

He finally added another finger, twisting them deep inside of me as he raised himself to rest on his right elbow beside me, grey-blue eyes slanting down to meet mine, pupils all but swallowing the thin ring of colour still visible as he continued to pump those deliciously long fingers in and out of me, twisting viciously every now and again, causing me to arch upwards, begging for more. 

“ _Harry,”_ he sighed, eyes sliding shut, fingers withdrawing, as he lined himself up with my slackened hole and pushed in, slowly, but continuously, not bothering to tease and taunt as he usually did. 

A remote part of my brain launched into a somewhat dedicated exploration as to what I had done to work Draco into such a frenzy.

I desperately wanted to remember so as to be able to work him into a similar passion the next time I wanted a proper fuck without the endless teasing Draco usually seemed to favour. 

Our mouths met in a frenzied kiss, tongues exploring in and out of each other's mouth, tangling and battling for control as Draco began to drive his hips in and out of me, fucking me well into the mattress with a steady, almost punishing rhythm that had me moaning and arching up into him, hips snapping forward to meet his every thrust.

I wrapped my arms around him and rolled us over so I was on top, rising up to look down at him through half-lidded eyes as I ground my hips down into him, riding him as though my existence fucking depended on it. 

I reached a hand down to tangle in the hair at the nape of his neck as he arched up, hips rising to meet mine as I continued to grind down on him, Draco’s hands gripping my waist, urging me to rock harder, faster, until I came with an absolutely shameless cry, head thrown back, hips still rocking, riding it out until I felt Draco’s release shooting up inside me. 

I collapsed into a boneless heap on top of him, his arms coming up to wrap themselves around me as he rolled us onto our sides. 

We stayed there for a minute, arms and legs tangled together, hands threading through each other’s hair, trailing along shoulders and backs, me burying my face into his neck, revelling in the now-familiar scent of him. 

“Draco,” I murmured, lifting my face to look up at him.

“Harry,” he replied, eyes watching me carefully. 

He liked me. 

It hit me again, but in quite a different way than it had at breakfast. 

“I don’t want to share you,” I mumbled, sinking my face back into his neck again.

It was the truth. 

I didn’t want to think about anyone else touching him. 

Him possibly deriving any sort of pleasure like we’d just shared from anyone else. 

Him possibly comparing me to any of those other arseholes. 

Me falling short. 

Him leaving. 

“Are you sure?” came his response, a light chuckle and a covetous caress down my back, hand coming to curl lightly around the curve of my arse. 

“No.” I insisted.

“I mean, yes.” Shit.

“Don’t want to share you. With anyone,” I clarified, lifting my face to look into his eyes, summoning every goddamned millilitre of my famed “Gryffindor” courage to do so. 

“Good,” he replied, bending forward to give me a languid kiss. 

“I’ve never been known to share.” 

On a whim, I accio’d my mobile to me, lifting a hand to catch it before it zoomed into Draco’s face.

“What’s that for?” he asked.

I didn’t reply.

Merely opened the Grindr app and glanced up at him.

“Just deleting this,” I responded, biting my lip. 

Hoping I hadn’t overstepped my boundaries. 

Draco’s face lit up into the most genuine smile I’d ever seen from him yet and he snuggled me closer, dropping a kiss atop my head. 

It was wonderful. 

Honestly.

For about a full minute.

And then.

“Draco?” 

“Mmm,” that deliciously lithe body pressing somehow closer to mine.

“Erm… aren’t you going to… you know?” 

“Hmm?” 

“Erm… delete it? From your phone?” 

Perhaps I had misjudged where this was going.

“I mean… you know… not sharing?” I tried again. 

Draco didn’t respond for a few moments, then leaned back to look me straight in the eye, those eyes of his staring as seriously into mine as anyone ever had.

“I might have deleted the app weeks ago,” he said finally, arms wrapping around me, tucking my head into the crook of his neck once more. 

“I really wasn’t using it anymore.” 


	15. When Curry Beats a Sunday Roast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco and Harry wake later that afternoon & (finally) talk a bit.  
> Next day, Draco & Hermione make a (teeny) break in the Erised case, so they think.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the wonderful comments!  
> I fucking love them and it brightens my day to read them.
> 
> I hope you are all doing well and staying safe. 
> 
> If there was ever a time to hunker down and read/write fanfics!

_Later that Afternoon_

_Draco's POV_

I woke a few hours later to the sound of a mobile buzzing. 

I fumbled around for a bit, eyes blinking open and squinting against the light streaming in through the window, hand finally locating the vibrating contraption so I could see who was calling.

It was Hermione. 

I had already clicked the screen to answer when I realised that it wasn’t my mobile. 

“Harry?” I could hear her on the other end.

_Shit._

I hung up, then sat up in a panic.

Or, rather, tried to sit up, but was hindered by Harry, wrapped tightly around me. 

“Harry,” I hissed as the mobile began buzzing again. 

“ _Wake up!”_

I began unwrapping his arms from around my neck and torso.

“Mmmph,” he replied, throwing his arm back around my neck. 

Seriously, this had been cute last time, but right now, Harry needed to wake the fuck up. 

“Harry,” I tried again, more loudly this time. “Hermione is ringing you.” 

“Hmmm.”

He snuggled further into my neck. 

“HARRY!” I all but yelled this time and he finally jerked awake, green eyes blinking up at me. 

“Hermione,” I snapped, holding the mobile out to him. 

His eyes widened almost comically as he untangled himself and took the mobile from me.

“Hullo?” he mumbled, voice still crispy from sleep. 

“Oh, shit,” he muttered moments later, free hand rising to rub at his eyes. “I completely forgot.” 

There was a pause while Hermione spoke, and I sat up, glancing down at Harry curiously. 

“No,” he sighed, “I don’t think I’m going to make it. It’s a bit late, already. Tell everyone I'm sorry.” 

I glanced over at the clock on my nightstand. 

It showed just past two, and I assumed Harry was expected at Sunday roast. 

He sat up, suddenly. 

“You haven’t started yet? On account of me? That’s silly.” 

There was another pause, and Harry shut his eyes, slumping towards me, resting his weight on one arm.

Me, being the complete arsehole that I am, decided to make things interesting for Harry. 

“Mmrph!” he gasped as my mouth suddenly closed around his cock. 

“No, nothing,” he continued, eyes snapping open to glare down at me, although he made no move to remove himself from my mouth, sucking determinedly at his prick, still semi-soft, but rapidly filling out. 

“I… just stubbed my toe,” he lied, eyes sliding shut as he lay back down, sliding his free hand down to tangle in my hair. 

“You should tell Molly to go ahead and start,” he added, and I smirked around my mouthful, now much more substantial than it had been mere seconds ago.

“I… I still don’t think I’m going to make it.”

Another pause and I took the opportunity to give a particularly lusty slurp up Harry’s now fully erect cock, revelling in the way Harry nearly tore his bottom lip open in an effort to remain quiet, hand tightening in my hair, silently begging me to hold still. 

Of course, I ignored said plea. 

“I…” Harry swallowed thickly before trying to continue. “I… got a bit tied up, is all.” 

I took advantage of the following pause to rise up and gently kiss the corner of Harry’s sweet mouth before moving to nip at the ear not currently occupied with his mobile. 

If looks could kill, I would have been a dead man. 

And it would have been utterly worth it. 

“I won’t be able to make it, Hermione,” Harry was saying, his voice firm, sounding every bit the wizard who had faced Voldemort at seventeen, daring anyone, even Hermione, to challenge him. 

I allowed myself another nip at Harry’s earlobe before sliding back down, wrapping my mouth around Harry once more.

“Tell Molly and everyone I’m really sorry,” Harry was saying, free hand tangling once more in my hair. 

Next second I heard the soft thunk of a mobile landing on the mattress somewhere near my left ear and Harry’s hand joining its partner to run through my hair as he finally let out one of the moans he’d been holding back. 

“Malfoy, if you think I’m not going to get you back for this,” he sighed, and I managed a satisfied smirk. 

Yes, please, I thought, as I closed my eyes and gave myself fully to pleasing Harry, already anticipating the payback. 

***

“ _Fuck!_ Draco!” Harry cried out, arching up to bury himself as far as he could down my throat before his hips began jerking frantically in and out of my mouth as his orgasm washed over him. 

I swallowed every drop greedily before scrambling up Harry’s body to thrust my aching cock into his eager mouth, plunging deep. 

Harry swallowed me down to the hilt, one, two, not quite three times, before I, too, fell over the edge, hips still thrusting into the warm, wet suction of Harry’s beautiful mouth, his tongue swirling and lapping up every trace of my release before letting go with a sigh. 

I collapsed in a heap beside him, arms moving to wrap themselves around his body, already moving to press up against me, his head fitting itself in the crook of my neck. 

We stayed like that for a few minutes before Harry grinned lazily up at me.

“Tell me something about you,” he demanded.

“What?” I asked, frowning down at him. “Like what?” 

“I mean,” he paused, biting his lip as he thought.

“We were at Hogwarts together. And obsessed with each other, that’s clear. But we don’t really _know_ anything about each other.” 

He had a point. 

“I still have no idea what kind of thing you want me to tell you,” I replied, hand trailing up and down his back. 

“Hmm, tell me…” he pondered, leaning back and tilting his head up to look at me thoughtfully. 

“Tell me something about your childhood,” he said finally. 

I merely quirked an eyebrow at him. 

What the fuck kind of question was that? 

“You know,” he clarified, grinning again. “What was it like growing up in Malfoy Manor? In the lap of luxury? Your every whim catered for?” 

I snorted.

Is that what he thought it’d been like? 

“It was quite lonely, honestly,” I admitted. 

Harry looked back up at me quizzically and I shrugged.

“It was just me, mum, and father,” I reminded him. “In that giant house. I didn’t even have cousins our age. There was no one to play with, except the house-elves, and, well…”

I shuddered remembering the fury when father had found out I’d been socialising with the help.

“Father _really_ didn’t approve of that.” 

“Oh,” Harry said quietly. “I’m sorry.”

He paused, biting his lip before continuing.

“I suppose I imagined it would be a bit like the wealthy kids I went to school with,” he explained. “Lots of friends to have sleepovers with and giant birthday parties with whatever kind of cake and ice cream you wanted.” 

I shook my head. 

“The parties _were_ giant,” I acquiesced. “And lavish. But they weren’t really _for_ me.” 

Harry frowned up at me. 

“Just, you know, to invite my parents' friends over and show off,” I explained. “People brought me presents, but it was just an excuse for everyone to try to one-up each other. See who could bring me the most expensive gift. It wasn’t ever really _fun_.” 

“Oh,” Harry said again, and I almost felt bad for ruining his image of the “rich kid” life he’d created. 

“They never invited your mates from school?” 

“School?” I echoed.

“You know, primary school,” Harry clarified.

I stared down at him in confusion.

“What are you even talking about, Potter?” 

“You know, primary school,” he said again, as though this would clear everything up. “What did you call your school before you went to Hogwarts?” 

“ _Before_ Hogwarts?” I parroted again. 

“Yeah. How did you learn anything before Hogwarts,” he rephrased, rolling his eyes up at me.

“I didn’t go to _school_ before Hogwarts,” I informed him haughtily. “I had tutors.” 

“Really, Potter,” I continued, allowing my accent to go “full throttle,” as I liked to call it

“Did you think my parents would sink so low as to allow their only son to attend something so _plebeian_ as an ordinary primary school? With other _students_ present?” 

I gave a theatrical shudder that would’ve made Lucius proud, had I been, well, serious. 

“Really?” he asked, staring up at me. “You’d never been to school, or around kids your own age, until Hogwarts?” 

None of this had really struck me as all that odd until that moment.

“No…” I admitted. “Not really.” 

“Hmm,” he sighed. “We’re not so different, really.” 

I snorted again. 

“I mean, I went to regular primary school,” Harry went on.

“You know, with _other students_ ,” he added, rolling his eyes. “But it was lonely.” 

“How so?” I was intrigued, now. 

I’d assumed Harry had grown up doted on and fawned over by his Muggle relatives.

Obviously, they would have been thrilled to have a wizard in the family. 

No doubt his schoolmates would have loved to see the crazy tricks and small feats of magic he could have already done. 

“Well, no one at school would talk to me,” he began, shrugging as he snuggled his face back into the crook of my neck. 

“Why not?” 

“They were all scared of Dudley and Dudley would beat up anyone who was stupid enough to talk to me,” he explained.

Who the fuck was this Dudley idiot? I wondered, arms tightening around Harry. 

“Who’s Dudley?” I asked. 

Harry chuckled as though he could sense my desire to hex this Dudley arsehole into the next millennium. 

“Don’t worry, Draco. Dudley’s changed,” he assured me. “He’s a grown-up now, just like us.” 

“If you say so,” I muttered. 

“He’s my cousin,” Harry continued. “My Aunt and Uncle hated anything to do with magic and he was their spoilt son who got away with everything.”

“They sound lovely,” I murmured, running a hand through Harry’s hair. 

“Mmm,”, he agreed. “They were special. Determined to stamp my magic out of me. Wouldn’t even let me have my Hogwarts’s letter when it arrived.” 

“How the fuck did they manage that?” I asked. 

My letter had arrived straight to my room at the manor. 

Not that my parents would have ever kept it from me. 

“My uncle took it from me and tore it up,” Harry explained. 

“Then, when they kept coming, he kept trying to make them stop,” he continued, seeing the look on my face. 

Clearly, his uncle was a first-rate idiot. 

Trying to stop Hogwarts from delivering post. 

“He… he kept trying to nail the doors and windows shut,” Harry began to giggle. “He even nailed the letterbox shut, and Hogwarts just kept delivering more and more letters!” 

“They turned up in the eggs when Aunt Petunia was making breakfast, they came in the bathroom window, through the cracks in the door. And Uncle Vernon just kept nailing things shut like a barmy bastard!” 

He was laughing uncontrollably now. 

“He thought Sunday would be calm and quiet because there’s no post on Sundays, but then they came pouring down the chimney!

"Uncle Vernon went positively mad and drove us to a shitty motel miles away. 

"We finally ended up in this piece-of-shit-cabin in the middle of the ocean that was about to collapse, and that’s where Hagrid found me.”

He sobered suddenly. 

“That’s when I first learnt I was a wizard,” he said quietly. 

“Hagrid broke down the door of that silly hut and wished me a Happy Birthday. It was the first birthday I ever celebrated. He made me a cake and everything.” 

“Wait a minute,” I shook my head, trying to take this all in. “You didn’t even know you were a wizard until you got your Hogwarts letter? How did they explain all your magical outbursts?” 

He shrugged. 

“I usually got punished for it. Once I ended up on the roof of the school kitchens because I was trying to get away from Dudley and his friends chasing me. And once, when we were at the zoo, I set a boa constrictor loose on Dudley,” Harry sniggered.

Harry’s stomach chose that moment to let out a growl of protest, reminding us that it had been far too many hours since brunch. 

“Shall we order some takeaway?” I asked, disentangling myself from him and sitting up. 

“Mmm, curry,” he replied, stretching his arms above his head. 

“Indian or Thai?” 

I accioed my pyjamas and stood to pull them on, looking down at Harry expectantly. 

“Um,” he paused and thought for a moment. “Indian. I’m too hungry to think about Thai. Too many choices.”

I was about to remind him that most Indian menus offered just as many, if not more, choices than a typical Thai menu, but remembered his admitted inability to make a choice and decided now was not the best time to bring that up. 

“Know what you want? I can ring them now…” 

“Chicken Bhuna. Or Jalfrezi, if they haven’t got it.” 

Apparently, Harry, like me, had his go-to Indian order at the ready. 

“And onion bhaji,” he added.

“Naan?” I questioned.

“Garlic,” he replied without hesitation. 

“Erm… I mean…,” he paused and glanced up at me sheepishly. “Am I supposed to not be ordering smelly things like onion and garlic?” 

I rolled my eyes.

“Harry, we’re getting curry,” I reminded him. 

“And please don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m probably going to have to ask you to leave soon after we eat because I’ve got a few things to look over for work. And I also need to be sure I get to work on time tomorrow.”

I allowed myself a moment to look over his still-naked body stretched out on my bed.

“Having you around is a liability to either of those actually happening.” 

“Fair,” he agreed, positively beaming up at me. 

***

A short while later I was seated at the table unpacking a bag of savoury curry, plates and cutlery zooming towards me from the kitchen. 

Harry collapsed on the loveseat next to me, clearly ignoring all the other chairs set around the table, not that I minded, obviously. 

“Mmm,” he sighed happily, grabbing an onion bhaji and cramming it into his mouth. 

“Would you like a plate, Potter?” I teased, holding one out to him.

“No,” he replied, stuffing another bhaji in his mouth. “ 'M good.” 

“Heathen,” I murmured, kissing the top of his head affectionately as I scooped some rice and vindaloo onto my own plate. 

“You love it,” he returned, opening his carton of food and taking a bite, leaning further into me. 

“I’d have never pegged you for such a snuggler,” I told him, awkwardly taking a bite of my curry. 

“Sorry,” he apologised, straightening and pulling away from me.

“No,” I amended, setting my plate down and pulling Harry back to me. 

“I don’t mind, just…”

I hauled him up and tugged him across my lap.

“Just sit on my right side so I can eat properly.” 

“Mmkay.” He sighed happily as he snuggled back into me, fork digging enthusiastically back into his carton of curry. 

We sat like that, bodies leaning into each other, chewing happily, and I couldn’t help but chuckle.

Was this really happening? 

Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter, snuggling on a couch whilst eating curry. 

Hell had frozen over, indeed. 

***

_Next Day_   
  


“So, did you have a pleasant weekend?” Hermione asked as we entered the Thought Room next morning. 

“Oh, yes,” I responded enthusiastically, with a sarcastic roll of my eyes. “The whole one day we actually got off was positively relaxing.” 

I mean, considering what had happened between Harry and me in that short period, yes, it _had_ been a rather wonderful weekend.

But Hermione didn’t know anything about that. 

“True,” she admitted, grinning and rolling her eyes back at me. 

“What about you?” I asked, wondering if she would bring up Harry not showing the Weasley’s for Sunday lunch. 

She shrugged.

“Pretty uneventful,” she admitted with a rueful smile. “You’re right, when we only get the one day off, there’s not much to talk about come Monday morning.” 

“What do you think about the case?” I asked, jumping right into it. 

There was no point in continuing the small-talk, seeing as Hermione and I both thrived on nerdy work-conversations. 

“I mean, it seems to have come to a bit of a standstill,” Hermione admitted, pulling some files out of her briefcase. “Ever since the attempts on Gringotts and Shacklebolt.” 

I nodded.

“I don’t like it,” I told her.

“How do you mean?” she asked, taking a brief respite from her notes to glance over at me.

“I mean, it’s _obsession_ ,” I began, brow furrowing in thought.

“I don’t know exactly what I mean, and I know we don’t have a set motive, but it seems likely that whoever started this started it with their own obsession in mind.” 

“I’m following,” Hermione muttered, eyes running down a lengthy parchment of notes. 

“I don’t think something as large as Gringotts or Shacklebolt should have ever been involved,” I continued, shooting her a worried glance. 

It was the first time I’d said it aloud. 

Hermione stopped perusing her notes and met my gaze.

“You don’t?” 

“No.” 

“Go on.” Hermione turned towards me, parchment forgotten on the side. 

“I think this is personal,” I told her quietly. 

“I obviously can’t disclose all the details from my mission a few weeks ago, but I don’t think this is an organisation, and I don’t think the perpetrator meant for it to get as big as it has.”

“However,” I paused and shrugged as I took a sip of coffee before continuing.

“It has and now I’m not sure if they might be biding time to redirect their mission and get the media attention away from them, or if they might have given up entirely.” 

“You don’t think their motive was to fame or fortune?” she asked, brows rising. 

Clearly, Hermione thought I was completely off my rocker. 

“No,” I sighed again. 

“Look, I can’t go into details and I have no idea what I’m allowed to share,” I began, licking my lips and choosing my next words carefully. 

“The individuals I’ve been meeting with… they’ve all had the app appear on their mobiles,” I explained. 

“Unwillingly, or because they thought the app was going to be something else. Like… like some sort of self-help or meditation app. Everyone I’ve talked to says they, inevitably, began obsessing over some _one._ Someone they, admittedly, already have an obsession with.”

I sighed and looked at Hermione, hoping she was following my vague line of thought.

"So you’re suggesting that this individual is just trying to get a chance with their crush?”

“I think they probably see it as much more than that, Mione,” I sighed. “It's an _obsession_. They’d do anything at this point.” 

She nodded. 

“I’m surprised, Draco,” she said finally, eyeing me shrewdly. 

“At what?” 

“That you’d understand obsession and desire for another person like that,” she admitted, shrugging casually, although her eyes continued to watch me carefully. “Have you ever even been obsessed with someone? I can’t imagine you’d understand.” 

“Not since Hogwarts,” I admitted cautiously, knowing Hermione would see right through a lie but also knowing I was giving her a fairly loaded answer. 

“So,” she said, shuffling her parchments into a neat pile and rearranging the items on her desk. 

“It appears we need to change our course of research,” she announced, smiling over at me. “To Desire. Want. Longing. _Obsession_. We’re going to have to bring in our partners from the Love Room.” 


	16. Distractions Are Most Welcome

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco has important research that requires his attention, but... also Harry who, also, requires his attention.
> 
> Which will he choose?

_Wednesday Evening_

_26 August 2009_

_Harry's POV_

“What are you up to? Grab dinner?” I texted Draco Wednesday evening as soon as I got home from practice. 

I hadn’t seen him since Sunday and was hoping he would be available, even if it was just to grab a bite.

Course, I was really hoping he’d say yes to dinner and a nice, long round of dessert afterwards. 

I chewed my lip nervously, awaiting Draco’s response. 

I wasn’t being weird or needy was I? 

I was allowed to miss him and want to see him after a few days, right?

Problem was, I still wasn’t really sure what we were. 

I knew he didn’t want to “share" just as much as I didn’t want anyone else touching him but I wasn’t sure how that translated to hanging out during the week. 

Was he my boyfriend? 

Or just a monogamous weekend fuck?

“ _Sorry, Harry_ ,” his response pinged back. “ _I’ve a lot of research to finish tonight_.” 

He waited just the appropriate amount of time for me to feel dejected before adding:

“ _You know I’d love to take you up on dinner but we both know I won’t get back to work if that happens._ ” 

Still, I reasoned. 

The man had to eat. 

I smiled to myself as I made up my mind. 

I was going to bring Draco dinner. 

***

I regretted it the minute I apparated into his flat, holding a bag of fish and chips from the local chippy up the street from me. 

“Harry,” he groaned, looking up from an enormous book sitting on his lap.

I held up the bag of food as I crossed the reception to where he sat on the couch on the far wall facing me. 

“I… erm… thought I’d just bring you something to eat anyway,” I said dumbly as I sat down on the couch perpendicular to his. 

I set the bag on the coffee table, still not meeting his gaze. 

There was an awkward silence that seemed to stretch for ages.

“Thanks,” he said finally, placing his quill in the book and snapping it shut. 

“But I’ve already eaten. And I don’t like fish & chips.”

He paused again and rubbed at his eyes tiredly. 

“I mean, I _do_ like them, but I always feel like shit afterwards so I prefer not to eat them.” 

“Sorry,” I mumbled, staring down at my hands, not sure what to do. 

“Don’t be,” Malfoy sighed, standing and moving to sit beside me on my couch. 

“It was sweet of you to bring me dinner,” he told me, leaning in to place a gentle kiss behind my ear. “I really appreciate that.” 

I leaned back into him, smiling shyly. 

“What are you reading?” 

Shit, Harry, I scolded myself. He can’t talk about work.

“Erm…” Malfoy seemed to be having the same realisation as I was. 

“Well, it has to do with the Erised case,” he said at last, one hand carding lazily through my hair, other arm reaching round to pull me close. 

“You know I can’t say much, but the case has taken a decided turn, meaning all our previous research is shit. Or, most likely, shit. So…” 

He gestured at the giant tome on the other couch to make his point. 

“Are you sure I can’t distract you for just a few minutes?” I asked, turning to nip at his neck. 

His hand maintained its path running through my hair, encouraging my mouth on his neck, so I continued to lap and suck, paying special attention to the sensitive skin along his jawline that seemed particularly vulnerable. 

“Harry,” he warned. 

I ignored him, and he stiffened for a brief moment before he sighed and leaned into my eager mouth. 

“I’ve heard taking a break can greatly help one’s focus,” I informed him, turning to straddle his lap, grabbing his plump bottom lip between my teeth. 

“Harry,” he groaned, right hand pressing into the small of my back, pulling me closer, while the other tangled through my hair, urging my mouth to meet his. 

“You’re a fucking liability,” he murmured, tongue slipping between my lips to tangle with mine. 

“Am not,” I countered, grinding down on his rapidly filling cock. “Just want to make sure you’re relaxed and able to focus properly.” 

He chuckled and pulled back to look up at me, blue-grey eyes sparkling mischievously. 

“No,” he replied. “You’re only here to distract me. You’re terrible.”

“Am not,” I retaliated, leaning in to kiss him again. 

He groaned into the kiss as he stood, hands still clasping me to him. 

“Harry,” he sighed. “I asked you not to distract me. Why can't you listen?” 

“I didn’t mean to,” I responded brokenly, our mouths still pressed together as we stumbled to… wherever he was leading me to. 

“I’m not complaining,” he assured me, still kissing me as he turned me to lean over the dining room table, a cushioning charm making it feel like the softest mattress instead of a solid wood table.

He placed my arms on either side of my head, hands resting in line with my shoulders, fingers wrapping to grip the edges of the table as though he might allow me to push myself up until I felt his magic swirl, clamping my wrists down. 

A few seconds later, another spell practically glued my hips to the edge of the table and I moaned, pushing my arse back against his rapidly thickening cock. 

A third wordless spell took care of my clothing so that I was splayed stark-naked, bent over Draco Malfoy’s dining table, arse presented to him like a fucking gift, and I couldn’t help but groan at the completely wanton picture I’m sure I made. 

Draco clearly appreciated it, if the groan he made as he ran a hand down my back, curving it almost lovingly around my arse, was any indication. 

He moved to stand beside me, that magnificent cock creating a mouth-watering bulge in his trousers, temptingly kept _just_ out of mouth’s reach. 

The fucking bastard. 

“Harry,” he said quietly, kneeling so his eyes were level with my own. 

“Mmm,” I replied, doing my best to focus my gaze on his own and not get lost in a lust-clouded haze. 

“What are we going to do with you?” 

A hand reached up to thread itself through my hair and I leaned into it, body pressing up into his caress as it continued down the nape of my neck, tracing gently along my spine, pausing just above the swell of my arse, before returning to the top of my head to repeat the action. 

“This is nice,” I murmured, eyes sliding shut as his hand made a third pass along my body. 

He chuckled.

“It is,” he agreed. “But this isn’t what you had in mind when you came over, is it?” 

“Wanted to bring you dinner,” I insisted. “Really.” 

“Harry,” he said again, voice all but calling bullshit. “We both know it wasn’t _dinner_ you were after when you came over.” 

My eyes snapped open, finding his grey-blue eyes staring accusingly at me, a grin on his face letting me know he wasn’t actually upset. 

“Would’ve been fine with just dinner, though,” I maintained, closing my eyes again, wondering how Draco was such a master at creating such opposing scenarios: 

He could make me feel embarrassed yet brazen; like a cheap whore yet somehow more cherished than a vault full of rubies; on display, begging to be used yet utterly relaxed and content. 

“ _I_ think we need to shut that mouth of yours,” he replied, hand still tracing its path from my hair and down my back, his voice still quiet, almost soothing despite the threat of his words. 

Juxtaposition in perfection, once more. 

I allowed myself a tiny smile as I nodded.

“Yes, please.” 

The prize I was given seconds later was not, however, Draco’s beautiful cock running along the seam of my lips, nudging them open, but the smooth rubber of the black dildo. 

I opened my eyes to glare at Draco, frowning even as I opened up, allowing him to slide the head of the fake cock into my mouth. 

“Aww,” he teased, fake pout mocking me as he slowly slid the dildo further into my mouth. “Not what you were hoping for?” 

I managed to harden my glare and shake my head indignantly, nevermind the fact that Draco was now sliding said dildo in and out of my mouth easily, fucking my face with it, me accepting it just as willingly as if it _had_ been his actual cock. 

I couldn’t stifle the moan I made then and Draco smirked back at me, removing his hand from the dildo, magic taking over so it continued to fuck gently in and out of my mouth on its own. 

Draco moved so that he was standing behind me, hands coming to rest on my hips, and I strained my arse backwards as far as I could with the magical bonds still holding me to the table. 

“Mmm, kitten,” he sighed, hands sliding down my thighs as he sank to his knees behind me. 

“Always so eager.” 

His hands moved to spread me open and he leaned in to gift me a slow, wide lick, not even bothering to swirl around my hole as he passed, despite the fact that I definitely pressed hard against his mouth, practically whining with need around the dildo. 

A lubed finger pressed against my opening then, and I moaned again, trying my damndest to push back, urging it further inside. 

Draco used his free hand to steady my jerking hips as his finger continued its slow press in, head tilting to place a simple kiss where my arse met thigh, no doubt watching as his finger disappeared into my slick entrance. 

The slide out was just as agonisingly slow and I did my best to complain around that dildo, still sliding gently in and out of my mouth, my hips wriggling against the edge of the table, doing whatever they could to get Malfoy to hurry the fuck up. 

“You’re especially eager tonight,” he commented, sliding his finger back in, then out. 

Still much too slowly. 

Arse. 

He continued, adding a second finger, working me open, gently, as though he had all the time in the world to reduce me to a moaning, begging slut, his precious research forgotten on the other side of the room. 

“Is sweet Harry in a hurry to get fucked proper tonight?” he asked, pressing another kiss to my cheek. 

I could only moan and form my best muffled “mmm-hmm” around the dildo. 

“Mmm,” Draco sighed, removing his fingers as he stood behind me. “Ok.” 

I stilled at that, worried. 

That had been almost too easy, hadn’t it?

His hands petted down my sides again, soothing me, and I allowed my eyes to flutter shut, relaxing once more.

Next second, I felt the cold, solid head of another dildo nudging gently at my opening and I gave another heartfelt moan of protest.

It was the glass dildo. 

From the bathtub.

Draco continued to slide it in, the flared head pushing through my still-tight ring, my arse swallowing it, closing around it to grip at the shaft with its emerald-green ridge twisting down the length. 

My moans became nearly constant as Draco twisted it in slowly, allowing me to feel that evil whorl swirling up inside of me, teasing along my passage, eliciting an embarrassingly high-pitched whimper when he twisted it, just as slowly, back out. 

“I never did get to see you enjoy this the last time,” he was saying, kneeling behind me again, watching as he guided it back in. 

“ _Someone_ thought it’d be fun to distract me.” 

He twisted the dildo downwards suddenly, as though he knew the head would press into that bunch of nerves, causing me to scream out, body jerking against the bonds holding me tightly to the table. 

“ _Someone_ ,” Draco continued softly, both hands running up my thighs, the dildo still twisting slowly in and out of my arse, working in tandem with the one fucking my mouth, “had better think about the consequences he faces _whenever_ he decides to distract me.” 

Draco suddenly appeared in my line of vision, a pleased smile spreading across his face as his eyes took in the sight of me, spread out and bound to his table, being fucked at both ends by two dildos, him still fully clothed, clearly having no intention of fucking me himself anytime soon. 

“And while you think about that,” he resumed, grey-blue eyes flicking down to meet mine, “I’ve some research I _really_ must get to.” 

And with that he turned on his heel, walking calmly back to the couch.

I gave an indignant screech of protest, which earned me a look of admonishment from Draco as he settled himself on the couch, opening his book once more. 

“Harry,” he cautioned, and I felt a Silencing Charm go up around me.

“I simply can’t have you distracting me right now, pet.” 

He allowed himself a last, lingering glance before turning back to his research.

“I’ll be back with you just as soon as I’m finished.”   
  
  


***

I have no idea how much time passed, the two dildos working in and out of both my holes, magicked to pull out almost entirely and stop whenever I approached anything resembling an orgasm, both clearly spelled to keep me hovering just below that peak. 

My throat was raw from moaning and crying out, not to mention swallowing around the black dildo as it slid entirely down my throat every few thrusts. 

All the while, I watched as Draco worked, reading through the tome, his quill automatically taking notes on the parchment stretched across the coffee table.

Now and then his brow would furrow and he would lean forward, grabbing his pile of parchment and shuffling excitedly through it, checking some notes with whatever new information he’d discovered and annotating accordingly. 

His laptop sat to the side of him and he would sometimes pull it closer to him, right hand eagerly typing something into the search engine, quill taking down notes on whatever he’d found online. 

The pieces of parchment were set neatly in little piles, coloured tabs sticking out the side like tabbed file folders, clearly marking different aspects of his research. 

His pen, I also noticed, used many colours of ink, the notes colour-coded to make finding any information he needed readily available. 

He clearly loved whatever it was he was researching.

Or, I shuddered involuntarily, just loved reading and researching in general. 

Honestly, had I not been in such a state on account of the two dildos fucking themselves into me, I probably would have laughed and teased him mercilessly.

Draco’s enthusiasm and fastidious note-taking made the crazed study sessions Hermione organised for us back at Hogwarts seem like haphazard, almost apathetic affairs. 

Somehow, my brain managed to wonder if Ron and I would find willing partners in Blaise and Pansy to hash out our aggressions regarding Hogwarts-era study-inflicted trauma. 

Finally, Draco sighed and shut both his laptop and the giant book, sending all whizzing around the corner and down the hallway, as he rubbed tiredly at his eyes.

He stretched and rose to his feet, finally turning to look at me, still moaning, still desperate, still splayed out, entirely at his mercy, and he smiled, satisfied. 

“Sweet fucking Merlin,” he sighed, walking towards me, eyes raking over my body. “Do you have any idea what you look like?” 

He came to a stop before me, eyes darkening as he stared down at me, one hand reaching to gently pull the dildo from my mouth.

“Draco!” I gasped immediately.

“ _Please_ ,” I begged, head straining up into his hand and he caressed my hair, damp and tangled with sweat. 

“Harry,” he murmured, kneeling down and brushing my lips with his own. 

I groaned and leaned into the kiss, needing more, but Draco was already rising, eyes still gazing down at me, hand tangling idly in my hair. 

“ _Draco!_ ” 

I was so on edge tears were gathering on my lashes, surrounding Draco in a shimmering halo; a perverse saviour come to release me from my lust-driven agony.

He was moving again, coming to stand behind me, watching the swirled glass dildo twisting slowly in and out of my arse, hands reaching down to pull my cheeks open, spreading me even wider so he could watch as my hole swallowed the dildo, then the pink rim stretching open as it swirled out, the green ridge pulling at it unevenly, catching as it clenched around the wide head, not letting it slip out, before returning to twirl back in. 

“You absolute slut,” he sighed, sinking to kneel behind me. 

“You _love_ this,” he accused, one finger slowly tracing around the top half of my pucker as the dildo began its torturous pull out once more, causing me to whimper needily. 

“I was sure you would have broken yourself out of these by now,” he added, a nearly indistinguishable surge of magic tightening at my invisible bonds. 

“Please,” I mumbled, not able to manage more I was so beyond wrecked. 

Draco’s hands trailed slowly down my thighs, petting me, soothing me, as the glass dildo finally halted, deep inside of me.

One of his hands reached up to tug at it gently, my arse clamping down on it involuntarily, stilling Draco’s hand as he tried to remove it.

“Slut,” he murmured again. “You’d rather have this toy up your arse than me?” 

He began to work it in and out of my arse manually, pulling the toy flush up against my arse and spinning it around clockwise whenever it retreated so that the thick head was held just inside my hole, pulling at the inside of my rim as he spun it deftly, something telling me this was not the first time he’d had the idea to twist it so exquisitely 

“N-n-no!” I wailed, head twisting up and back, trying to stare at him frantically. 

He fucked the dildo back into me, then pulled it out once more, rotating it so that the head peeked out of my hole as he swirled it, popping out on one side, only to dip back in on the other. 

“Draco, _please_!”

He finally released the dildo with a pop, hands running up and down my thighs a few times as he pressed gentle kisses into my arse and across the tops of my thighs. 

“Shh, kitten,” he murmured. “It’s ok. I’m right here.” 

I drew in a shaky breath and closed my eyes again, focusing on Draco’s hands and mouth caressing and kissing, bringing me down from the frantic ledge I’d been balancing on. 

Next moment, his tongue gave a slow, greedy lick between my cheeks, tongue swirling inside, a deep groan vibrating throughout my body as Draco moaned into me. 

“Look at you,” he murmured, a finger gently probing at my slackened hole. 

“So spread open after being fucked by that dildo for the past Merlin-knows-how-long that your sweet little hole can’t even close properly.” 

He licked another swipe up me, pausing to slowly curl his tongue deep inside. 

One, two, three times. 

“Tell me, kitten,” he asked, still lapping gently at me. “Did you enjoy that dildo?”

He paused and chuckled at my desperate cry of pleasure. 

“That ridge is something else, hmm?” 

He gave a particularly luscious suck before fastening his mouth around my hole, tongue thrusting and licking deep within me, my moans only seeming to feed his lust. 

Malfoy continued lapping and curling his tongue deep within me as I tried to fuck back into his filthy mouth, especially when his tongue would withdraw slightly, his mouth sucking lingering kisses into my hole. 

“Draco, please,” I managed again. “ _Please_ …” 

He sighed, finally removing his mouth from my arse, three long fingers delving in, spreading me wider open still. 

“Merlin, Potter,” he muttered, removing his fingers and lining the head of his prick up with my, frankly, desperate entrance.

“I’m going to fuck you right through this goddamned table.” 

And with that promise, he slid into me, one slick, delicious slide, all the way in.

“Oh, _gods_ ,” I half-moaned, half-yelled. “Yes, _fuck_ , Malfoy…”

He withdrew completely, pausing half-a-second, before driving back in then withdrawing again, setting a rhythm that wasn’t slow but still not. Fucking. Fast. Enough. 

“ _Draco_ ,” I begged. “ _Please_ , stop teasing.” 

Goddamned bastard ignored me, maintaining that same leisurely pace, fucking that ridiculous cock of his deep inside of me, withdrawing completely each time, no doubt watching my hole gape and flutter as it tried desperately to hold him inside. 

I concentrated on squeezing around him as he pulled out, flexing my muscles around him until he gasped.

“ _Fuck_ , Potter. You vicious bastard,” and with that utterance, he began fucking me in earnest, hips driving me, slamming me into the table, seemingly set on making good on his promise of fucking me right through it. 

I began to babble a litany of pleas. 

Echoes of “ _please”_ and _“more”_ and “ _fuck”_ and any other words that flashed through my mind that I hoped would keep Draco fucking me absolutely senseless until I came all over his stupid, goddamned table. 

“What’s that?” he demanded, hips working even faster, snapping into me.

“Harder?” he gasped out, hips slamming into me so hard it felt as though my teeth were shaking, as he answered one of my, apparently, mindless demands. 

He angled his hips then, so that he began to hit _that_ fucking spot and I screamed as my magic exploded, freeing me from the carefully placed restraints Draco had set me in hours earlier.

I braced my arms against the table and fucked back against him, meeting his thrusting hips as hard as I could, both of us frantically fucking until I nearly blacked out, screaming my release as my orgasm ripped through me like a goddamned tidal wave, crashing over me, smaller, resounding waves continuing to wash over me with such intense pleasure I wasn’t quite sure if I’d completely blacked out or not. 

Draco had followed shortly after me, his hips still moving, still sliding in and out of me, hands gripping my hips as I wrung every last drop from his spasming cock and he collapsed with a shudder, face collapsing between my shoulder blades, where he placed an absent-minded, sloppy, somehow tender, kiss. 

“Merlin, Harry,” he sighed, arms wrapping around me as he dragged me up and spun me around, wrapping my arms around his neck as I all but collapsed against him, weak from the entire ordeal. 

“Forget anything I’ve said before. You’re welcome to distract me from my research any goddamned time you please.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading!
> 
> I had so much fun with this chapter... really helping to keep my mind off this crazy pandemic we're currently living through. 
> 
> Obviously love me a good, devious Draco *smirk* (such a goddamned Slytherin)
> 
> I hope you and all your loved ones are safe and well. 
> 
> As always, comments are appreciated. 
> 
> They really help keep me writing :)


	17. Suspicions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco is late for work and Hermione's suspicions are raised.

_Thursday Morning & Afternoon_

27 _August 2009_

_Hermione’s POV_

_“_ Where are you? Are you alright?” 

It was 10:07, and now the second time I’d texted. And still no answer. 

Which was very unlike Draco.

He treated work and punctuality almost as seriously as I did, so for Draco to be over an hour late was highly suspect. 

“Sorry, Hermione,” he apologised as he came stumbling through our office door, almost tripping in his haste to get to his desk, managing to look clumsy, even, as he wriggled out of his coat and sat down.

“I got tied up,” he continued, pulling his laptop and a minuscule stack of parchment from his briefcase, a quick spell unshrinking them so they returned to normal size. 

“Tied up?” I echoed, brows raising as I stared at him incredulously. “Doing what, exactly?” 

“I got up early to go over some of the research I did last night and lost track of time,” he replied as he deftly shuffled through the now giant stack of parchment before him.

He said it so smoothly, I almost believed him. 

Save for the fact that his hair was an unkempt mess, at least by Malfoy’s standards. 

And his clothes had definitely been thrown on in a rush. 

I was certainly no expert in sartorial trends, but I could see the difference between the artfully-crafted nonchalance Malfoy’s wardrobe usually exuded and the haphazard nonsense he was sporting this morning. 

Not that it was anything ghastly, like what Ron would think was appropriate, left to his own devices.

But Draco, wearing a suit that had been carelessly thrown on? No little extras? No pizzazz? No pieces of flair to draw the eye?

Maybe a wristwatch fastened around the cuff of his shirtsleeve, as though he’d _accidentally_ done so because he was in _such_ a rush to get dressed.

A pocket scarf tucked hastily into the breast pocket, fancy folds forgotten, for the time being, the rest of his impeccable outfit informing the casual onlooker that he knew perfectly well _how_ to fold a pocket square, but just couldn’t be bothered at the moment. 

Or perhaps his tie casually knotted, just a tad askew to give an appearance of not giving a damn, but, in all reality, had probably taken at least ten minutes to “get right.” 

Sometimes, Draco didn’t even bother wearing a tie at all, leaving just the top few buttons of his shirt unbuttoned and his hair tousled so he looked as though he’d just been shagged.

This look was usually reserved for pubs and such where he knew the look would guarantee him that evening’s pull. 

Truth be told… my eyes narrowed as I studied him more closely.

Draco looked as though he’d actually just been shagged. 

As though he’d actually just rolled out of bed and donned whatever outfit his hand had grasped at first when he’d realised he was late and, for once, actually hadn’t cared what he put on, so long as it was decent, and matching, and easy to slip on before racing off to work. 

And… my eyes narrowed even further.

“Draco Malfoy, is that a hickey on your neck?” I demanded. 

His hand clapped up immediately to the bite mark in question, his eyes widening slightly, mouth forming an “O” of surprise. 

“If you’re going to take the time to glamour them, at least make sure you do it properly,” I added, waving my wand and taking care of the faint purple mark that stood out far too well against his pale skin.

“Thanks,” he said quietly, licking his lips and looking anywhere but at me. 

“I… erm… really did find some interesting facts last night,” he went on, eyes glancing tentatively at me as though worried I might actually be upset. 

“You had time for research last night?” I teased, raising a brow at him.

Would you believe Malfoy _blushed?_

“Erm… yeah. I made sure to…” he began, then broke off, the pink in his cheeks, incredibly, rising higher. 

He passed a few pieces of parchment over to me, still not quite meeting my eyes.

I took the stack of parchment he offered me, knowing they would be colour-coded and annotated to a degree that even I would find exasperating, and began shuffling through them, eyes glancing up to watch Draco as I did so. 

The blush was fading and he was firing up his laptop, slowly regaining his composure.

“I may have realised something important about the actual Mirror and the app, and how they operate,” he continued, eyes finally meeting mine, alight with the usual spark they held when we discussed our research. 

“Tell me your thoughts while I have a look,” I encouraged, understanding that his lateness, and any reasons for having been, were to be pushed aside for the time being. 

Draco launched into his latest theory regarding the Erised case as I scanned through his meticulous notes. 

“So… you’re saying that the app _causes_ someone to obsess?” I clarified. “Not just intensifies an obsession that was already there?” 

“Correct. It’s definitely dark magic that allows the purchaser to cast the app into their intended’s device. 

“I’m almost certain that muggle’s afflicted who _thought_ they were downloading a self-help app had their memories altered so they wouldn’t freak out over finding a new app on their phone. Or maybe so that they would open it and it could work. I’m not sure, yet….” 

“Well, we have a meeting with Josh and Kipp tomorrow, that will really help.” 

Josh Williams and Kipp Davies were our research partners in the Love Chamber and, after having approached both Minister Shacklebot and Department Head Bones with our theory that the Erised case was being fuelled by a personal obsession, had agreed that the four of us should begin researching the case together. 

“Mmm,” Draco was saying, shuffling through more parchment. “And I’ll have to start skulking about Knockturn Alley again, too. I'm sure I'll pick up a ton of information there.” 

"Old Man Edward White's going to have to restock all of his supplies?" I grinned, knowing one of Draco's favourite glamours was an eighty-seven-year-old man who turned up in Knockturn Alley from time to time to refill his stores of highly suspect potions ingredients. 

It was almost as though all had returned to normal.

Except that Draco had now raised my suspicions.

I was thinking about the last time I’d seen Draco.

Just this past Saturday, when he’d been so preoccupied he hadn’t been able to focus and we’d gone out to lunch. 

It hadn’t even occurred to me then that his distraction might have been caused by a potential love interest. 

Not even when Tristan had stumbled, quite literally, into us and mentioned that Harry had called out _Draco’s_ name. 

No. 

It had only crossed my mind, and even then, as a sort of amused, what-if, sort of scenario, when I’d gone home that evening and Ron had told me about the conversation he and Harry’d had over tea. 

***

_Flashback: Saturday Evening, following “Merits of a Slytherin Partner.”_

“I think Harry wishes you’d been here,” Ron answered when I asked him how the afternoon went. 

“Why?” I asked, frowning. “I thought it would’ve been nice for the two of you to have some time alone.” 

Ron shrugged.

“He’s having boy troubles. You know I’m rubbish with advice.” 

“What sort of troubles? I didn’t even know Harry was seeing someone.” 

“Well,” Ron grinned impishly. “I don’t think they’re quite seeing each other yet, per se. More like… Grindr-ing semi-exclusively.” 

“Grindr-ing semi-exclusively?” I echoed. “What does that even _mean_ , Ron?” 

“It means he found this bloke he really likes on that app and now he’s not sure how to go about taking the next step. Or if the bloke’s even interested.” 

“Has he tried asking?” 

“No,” Ron replied. “But he has tried showing up at his flat, sloshed, after having come from another bloke’s flat.” 

“He _what_?!” 

“That’s what I said,” Ron shrugged as he began eating one of the leftover tea sandwiches.

I was too shocked to even admonish Ron about ruining his appetite before dinner. 

“He… was with another bloke. Like… _with_ him… _sexually_ ,” I clarified, just in case I’d missed a key part of this story. 

Ron nodded. 

“And then he went to the… Grindr’-ing…” I paused, thinking of Ron’s phrasing, “… semi-exclusively bloke’s flat?” 

My voice was doing that shrill thing it did when I was excited or upset or incredibly surprised. 

“Why would Harry _do_ that?!”

Ron frowned and shrugged.

“I dunno,” he answered, grabbing another sandwich.

This time, I did smack it out of his hand.

“Hey!” 

“Dinner,” I reminded him, glancing at the clock. 

He rolled his eyes.

“I’ll be able to eat dinner, you _know_ that. 

“Anyway, we’re talking about Harry and his love life. Dinner can wait.” 

“How did he react?” I demanded.

“Who?”

“The bloke! When Harry showed up? Did he say?” 

“Said he made him tea and tucked him into his guest bed.” 

“…”

Ron stared back at me.

“And you and Harry are wondering if he’s interested?” I asked.

Ron shrugged.

“It’s hard to tell, sometimes, Mione,” he reasoned. 

“I told him he _probably_ was,” he added, shrugging again. 

“Ronald,” I rolled my eyes, and his eyes snapped guiltily in my direction, hand sneaking back from grabbing another sandwich. 

“Let’s put this into perspective, shall we? 

“Remember back when we were dating? When we took that break to ‘make sure’, or whatever?” 

He nodded.

“Ok, then, let’s say I had shown up at yours, sloshed, having just come from another bloke’s? 

“What might you have done? Would you have made me tea?” I asked. 

“Or tucked me neatly into your spare bed?” 

“No,” he replied. “I didn’t even have a spare bed…”

“Besides the point, darling,” I reminded him. 

“No, I wouldn’t have,” he said again. “‘Course, I have no idea what I _would_ _’ve_ done, but not that.”

“Exactly,” I said triumphantly. 

“And, let’s say the tables were reversed, and you’d come to see me after having been with another woman. 

“What do you think I’d have done? Think I would have made you a cuppa and tucked you in?” 

Ron pulled a face and shook his head.

“No,” he admitted. “I’m quite sure I’d have no bollocks right now, actually.” 

“Probably not,” I confessed. “So, as you can see, this bloke Harry’s stumbled upon seems to be quite the keeper.”

I frowned.

“Or… such the Hufflepuff that he might be kind of annoying.” 

“No,” Ron shook his head. 

“I asked him what house he thinks he’d be in and he said Ravenclaw or Slytherin, like, immediately.” 

“Why’d you ask him what house he’d have been in?” I asked, curiously.

“I dunno,” he shrugged. 

“Seemed like the best way to get an understanding of the bloke. But Harry definitely said Ravenclaw or most likely Slytherin.”

Ron frowned.

“Probably should’ve asked him _why_ he thought that,” he mused, grabbing another sandwich. 

I didn’t even bother reprimanding him this time and just shook my head. 

***

Which brought me back to this morning.

Harry, growing fond over some bloke he’d met on Grindr.

A bloke who, by his own admission, would have been in either Ravenclaw or, most likely, Slytherin?

Draco, unable to concentrate on Saturday. 

Harry, having called out Draco’s name whilst sleeping with another bloke. 

Harry, skipping out on Sunday roast, Ron, George, and I fully convinced he’d been with his mystery bloke. ( _Hopefully_ making up for having shown up at his flat after having been with another man.)

And now, Draco, dishevelled and late for work with hickeys on his neck. 

It was an absolutely insane idea, to be sure.

And that’s why I definitely thought I was right. 

It was _just_ crazy enough to make sense. 

And would certainly explain Harry’s ridiculous obsession with Malfoy back at Hogwarts. 

On a whim, I pulled out my mobile and texted Ron.

“Any chance you and Blaise want to join Draco & I for lunch?” 

I smiled as Ron’s answer pinged back a few moments later.

“Sure. Where at?”

I smirked to myself as I replied with a pub we all enjoyed and waited for lunchtime to arrive. 

***

“Draco, I’m meeting Blaise and Ron for lunch,” I said, shrugging into my coat when lunchtime came round. “Care to join?” 

Draco set down his quill and stretched, thinking for a minute. 

“Come on,” I cajoled. “You’ve been having sad, boring desk-lunches the entire week.” 

He grinned up at me.

“Too true,” he admitted as his stomach gave a well-timed growl, and I realised that he’d probably skipped breakfast in his haste to get to work. 

“I suppose that’s a yes?” he quipped, standing to grab his coat. “Where are we meeting them?”

“A little pub just around the corner in Muggle London,” I replied as we stepped out into the main Thought Room and continued to the hallway leading to the Ministry elevators. 

I glanced up at Draco as we got into one of the elevators, looking at him in a new light.

Truth be told, it’d been a while since I’d _really_ looked at another bloke. 

Don’t get me wrong, I noticed other good-looking people, both men and women, but never really bothered to examine them closely. 

Harry joked that, at this point, I was neither heterosexual nor bisexual, and was just “ _Ron_ -sexual.”

This, of course, always said with an exaggerated shudder. 

I tried to look at Draco the way Harry, or any other single person who fancied blokes, would look at him. 

His face had filled out since Hogwarts and instead of looking pinched and pointy now had the high cheekbones and chiselled angles models would have killed for. 

Honestly, I would have hexed him for the long lashes that framed his stormy-coloured eyes alone. 

Nevermind that they were slightly deep-set and hooded, offering the perfect definition of “bedroom eyes,” if I’d ever seen one. 

He was just tall enough, too, without appearing lanky. 

Even if I didn’t already know the sort of training regimen he was expected to maintain for his job, he was clearly fit, exuding an almost effortless strength.

As though he _knew_ he was powerful and could hex the actual hell out of someone without even flicking his wand, so why even bother showing off about it? 

Which, honestly, seemed like something that would appeal to Harry, wouldn’t it? 

Holy shit, I realised with a tiny smirk. 

Draco Malfoy was _gorgeous_. 

“Granger,” he barked suddenly. “Why are you staring at me like a love-sick thirteen-year-old?” 

“Just making sure you don’t have any other love bites we need to cover up before Blaise sees you,” I shot back, satisfied at the slight blush that rose in his cheeks.

“Fuck,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair, no doubt realising that Blaise would notice his appearance just as quickly as I had.

“And besides,” I continued, lest Malfoy got any ideas about backing out of our lunch date now. 

“I haven’t been a Granger for years now. You can stop calling me that.”

“Granger-Weasley just doesn’t have the same ring,” he complained, grinning down at me

“How can I _possibly_ convey my disdain if I have to snap out _Granger-Weasley_ every time I feel the need?” 

I stuck my tongue out at him as we exited the elevator and made our way to the fireplaces that led to Muggle London. 

“Ron and Blaise are already there,” I told him a few minutes later as we walked into the pub. 

I slid into the comfy leather banquette next to Ron, giving him a quick peck on the cheek, leaning into him as his arm wrapped around my shoulder.

“Awww,” Draco cooed. “Look at us, we're just two adorable little couples having a double date for lunch.” 

He slid his chair closer to Blaise’s and leaned into him, pressing an obscene smack on his cheek, mimicking my greeting to Ron. 

Blaise played along, apparently used to Draco’s over-the-top antics, and slung his arm casually around his shoulders before frowning over at him.

“What the fuck happened to you?” he asked suddenly, jerking to hold Draco at arm’s length so he could better study his appearance. 

“You look like shit.” 

“Ronald, Luv,” Draco drawled, turning his gaze towards us. 

“Do me a favour and teach your partner how to greet his lunch date properly next time, will you?” 

“What’s wrong with the way you look?” Ron’s brows knitted together as he looked Draco over. 

“Nothing you’d notice,” Blaise assured Ron, still giving his friend the once over. 

“Seriously, Draco, your mirror let you out of your flat looking like this? Did you even look at yourself this morning?”

“What’s wrong with the way Draco looks?” Ron asked again, giving me a confused glance, then looking down at himself worriedly, as though Blaise might be holding him to the same standard. 

“He’s just… not as put-together as he usually is,” I explained. 

“His hair’s a mess, his shirt’s wrinkled,” Blaise began, eyes still raking over Draco, taking stock of his appearance.

“Trousers aren’t pressed quite right, either, you’ve two different socks on, those shoes don’t match that suit, nor does your tie, for that matter. 

“Holy Hecate, Draco, did you even _realise_ what you were putting on?” 

“I overslept,” Draco confessed, rolling his eyes. “Any of you mind if I put in my order?”

Nevermind that he was clearly trying to evade the discussion. 

Malfoy had a point. It would only do us good to put in our order quickly. 

“That you overslept was clear.”

Blaise picked right back up once we’d returned from the bar, food ordered and pints in hand. 

“Are you sure you’re alright, Draco?” 

“I think he had a bit of a late night last night,” I informed Blaise, smiling sweetly as Draco shot me a murderous glare. 

“Oh!” Blaise’s expression turned to one of absolute glee. “With that bloke you were telling me about?” 

“No,” Draco replied and Blaise’s grin deepened. 

“That means yes,” he informed Ron and I. 

“So, as I asked on Saturday, when do we get to meet this lucky man?” Blaise demanded, attention turning back to Draco. 

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Draco replied, unfolding his napkin and placing it primly on his lap. 

“Draco!” Blaise seemed thrilled with this response, eyes lighting up as he grinned over at Ron and me as though expecting us to share in his delight.

Ron glanced at me questioningly and I shrugged.

Sure, I worked with Draco and was getting to know him fairly well, but I had nothing on Blaise. 

“You’re in _lurve_!” Blaise declared, flinging his arms round his mate and pulling him in for a bear hug. 

Draco scowled, pulling away from Blaise’s embrace, looking very much like a cat being handled by an overly-enthusiastic child.

“Really, Blaise,” he all but growled, shoving at him. “You’re being ridiculous.” 

Once again, Blaise seemed to think this was a fantastic reaction.

“This is serious,” he announced, releasing Draco and turning to face Ron and I once more.

“Hermione,” he began, leaning towards me. “I think our dear Draco might need some help to retell the events of his morning.” 

He glanced at Draco, then back at me, lowering his voice to a theatrical whisper.

“Sometimes he forgets minor details, almost like he’s omitting them on _purpose_ , or something, and Draco, I swear to fucking Merlin, if you hex me one more time I will fuck you up,” he continued, not skipping a beat and throwing Draco a lethal glare. 

“We’re going to get to the bottom of this. We’re going to meet your mystery lover-boy. You might as well drop the fucking act and be stupid and happy and gushy about it, already.”

Draco didn’t reply.

Just kept staring at some point above Ron’s head, jaw working slightly, his right eyebrow twitching, as though he were straining to keep himself from hexing Blaise… well, all three of us, really.

“Hermione?” Blaise looked at me questioningly.

“Erm…” I wasn’t sure what sort of information Blaise was looking for.

Or, given the eerie silence from Draco, the proverbial calm before the storm, if I even wanted to be supplying any information.

“Any information?” Blaise encouraged. “About Draco’s morning?” 

“Well, he was late this morning,” I began, stopping as Draco tore his eyes from his focus point above Ron’s head to stare at me as though I’d just betrayed his deepest, darkest secret.

“What?!” Blaise sputtered, nearly spilling his pint.

“You were late? For _work?!”_ he gasped. “Draco, you’re never late for _anything_!”

“I’m late for lots of things,” Draco replied, smiling up at the barman as he brought our order. 

“Like what?” Blaise countered once we were alone again. 

“I was late to your birthday,” Draco reminded him. “And I’m always late for Ministry functions.” 

Blaise rolled his eyes and tucked into his pie.

“Yeah, but you’re _supposed_ to be fashionably late to those sorts of things.” 

He chewed for a bit, brow furrowing in thought.

“Actually, you’re, technically, on-time for those too,” he challenged, grinning at Ron and me, both lost, and just enjoying our meals at this point.

“I’m sure there’s some weird Malfoy formula you follow, like, you should be twenty-three minutes late to a friend’s birthday bash but forty-six to a Ministry function.” 

I couldn’t help but burst out laughing, trying not to spit out my bite of burger. 

“Draco,” I managed, between chewing and laughing, “I have to admit, Blaise is probably right!” 

“What’s so damn funny, here?” 

I glanced up and was surprised to see Harry walking up to our table, smiling.

“Harry!” I exclaimed, glad to see my friend, obviously, but thrilled at the prospect of watching he and Draco interact. 

“What are you doing here?” 

“Ron texted and said you were all meeting for lunch,” he explained, pulling up a chair and sitting on the empty side of the table between Draco and I. 

I hadn’t known it was possible to love my husband more. 

Harry already had a pint and a plate of bangers and mash, which he set on the table. 

“You were all so engrossed in your conversation, you didn’t even notice me come in.” 

“We’re trying to get Draco to tell us about his new beau,” Blaise sing-songed, slinging an arm around Draco’s shoulder and pulling him in to drop a loud smack atop Draco’s head. 

“Oh?” 

Harry’s face gave nothing away as he raised his pint to take a sip, brows rising in interest.

“And what have we found out?” 

“That he made Draco late for work this morning and, apparently, dress like shit,” Ron replied. 

Harry’s gaze switched from Ron to Draco, eyes running curiously over his appearance, but lingering no more than what would have been appropriate for a cursory gaze between acquaintances. 

“This is shit?” he asked, frowning up at Draco. “Seriously, mate, will you help me dress ‘like shit’ next time the Magpies have a press conference?” 

“I could _try_ ,” Draco responded lazily. “But I doubt you have anything in your closet that could make you look ‘like shit’…”

Draco frowned.

“Or, my version of shit?” he questioned, trying to figure out his wording. “I don’t know, there’s an insult in there somewhere, Potter. Please, take it as such.” 

“But you were late,” Blaise reminded us all. “Draco, you were _late._ For _work.”_

 _“_ Crikey, Malfoy,” Ron sniggered. “I had no idea you were so anal.” 

Malfoy giggled and looked as though he were about to respond. 

“Nevermind, Weasley,” he gasped, shaking his head, still grinning. “Too easy.” 

“So, is this really all they’ve been able to finagle out of you about your beau, then?” Harry demanded, grinning at Malfoy as he propped his right ankle upon his left knee and leaned his right elbow on his knee, hand resting in his palm as he looked up at Draco expectantly. 

“He made you just a tad late for work?” 

Harry took a sip from his pint then set it down, still leaning in towards Draco, a smirk spreading across his face. 

Suddenly, Harry’s elbow, the one upon which he’d been resting his head, and all of his weight, shot off of his knee, causing him to nearly topple face-first into Draco’s lap. 

“Potter, if you wanted to plant your face in my lap so badly, you should have asked years ago, when I might have cared,” Draco drawled, and I realised that he had hexed Harry’s arm to fall. 

I giggled, as did Blaise and Ron.

However, my ears had perked up when Draco had mentioned something about how he _might_ _have_ _cared_ , years ago. 

What did that mean? 

“Malfoy, you fucking jerk,” Harry growled, righting himself, eyes flashing nearly as bright as the Avada Kedavra curse and I sat up quickly. 

Blaise and Ron must have also felt the danger because they both leaned in towards the two men as well. 

“Harry,” I hissed, feeling a touch uneasy as Harry’s intense gaze remained focused on Malfoy, who was still reclining lazily in his seat, grey-blue eyes watching Harry, almost challenging him to retaliate. 

“Harry,” I tried again. “I swear to Merlin, if the two of you start a fucking duel in the middle of a muggle pub, not even Shacklebot will give a damn who either of you are.” 

Harry frowned suddenly, eyes darting to the far corner of the pub. 

“Hey, have any of you noticed that bloke in the corner there?” he asked, averting his gaze and turning to look us each in the eye. 

It took all my training not to snap my gaze immediately to the corner in question. 

Knowing Harry, it could either be a brilliantly played diversion from whatever the heck that had just happened between him and Draco, or there could actually be some odd bloke in the corner. 

“No,” Blaise replied cautiously, taking another bite of his pie. “But I’m assuming we shouldn’t all turn and look, so why don’t you fill us in, Potter?” 

“He’s wearing a glamour,” Harry informed us, staring down at his pint, mouth curving up in a smile so that if anyone happened to glance our way it would look as though he were merely smiling fondly at something one of us had said. 

“I mean, he’s not doing anything weird or all that suspect,” Harry continued.

“But he keeps glancing this way is all,” he finished, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the table, earning him an undignified glance from both Draco and Blaise. 

“Really, Potter?” Draco asked, raising an elegant eyebrow, flicking disdainfully at Harry’s elbow nearest him. 

Harry, thankfully, just removed his elbows from the table without his hackles rising and potentially starting another wizard duel. 

“You don’t think he’s glancing this way because... I don’t know, he… maybe, recognises one or two… or maybe _all_ of us at this table?” 

“Just thought it was interesting,” Harry shrugged. “Why is he wearing a glamour?” 

“Because he’s secretly in love with you but hasn’t figured out how to tell you,” Draco dead-panned, taking another dainty bite of his own pie. 

“ _I_ don’t fucking know, Harry.” 

Harry? 

My eyes narrowed suspiciously. 

Had Draco Malfoy just called Harry Potter _Harry?_

“It’s just weird that he’s wearing a glamour,” Harry insisted, seemingly unaffected by Draco’s slip in addressing him. 

Hmmm…

“I think you two are over-reacting,” Blaise weighed in, shrugging. 

“Course, I can’t see this mystery person, but…” he paused to finish off his pint. 

“If he _is_ up to anything, he can’t have picked a worse group to start anything in front of.” 

“True,” Draco smirked. “I’ve a feeling we’d be able to take him.”

I rolled my eyes. 

Honestly, Harry and Draco alone could have probably faced anything the evils of the wizarding world cared to throw our way alone. 

My eyes narrowed again.

Was I imagining it, because truth be told, I thought they’d be so great together or did it seem as though the two would be a near-perfect match in all things?

A dazzling example of yin perfectly complementing yang. 

From their appearances, to their personalities, to even how their magic manifested; Harry’s brash, almost crackling, like the air before a thunderstorm, and Draco’s, quiet and subdued, but no less dangerous or powerful. 

“Oy, Harry,” Ron asked, frowning, snapping my attention back to the group. 

“How do you even know that he’s wearing a glamour? Isn’t that the whole point? Anonymity… disguise… whatever?”

Harry shrugged. 

“I just can,” he replied smugly.

"Unless I'm distracted or something," he added, as an afterthought.

“Well, let us know if he does anything stupid,” Blaise said, grinning at Ron. “You’ve got two of the best Aurors on the force here.” 

“Right, thank Merlin,” Harry retorted, grinning back. “I might have been left like a damsel in fucking distress without you two.” 

We finished our meal, conversation gradually turning to Harry’s upcoming match against the Puddlemere United this weekend.

“You nervous, Harry?” Ron asked, knowing they were the Magpie’s biggest rivals for the League Cup. 

Harry shrugged.

“Not really. Doesn’t do much to fret before a match. Just hoping Campbell and McFarland don’t do something stupid like go out tomorrow night.

“Anyhow, wish us luck!” He raised his pint and we followed suit. 

“Maybe you’d better ring up your own lover, Mr. Dragon-Prick, for a pick-me-up before you leave,” Ron suggested.

Blaise, Draco, Harry, and I all sputtered on our pints and stared at Ron.

“What? It’s a joke,” Ron reasoned, staring at us all. “You know, how Harry almost couldn’t play that other match because… you know…” 

“Potter,” Draco was the first to break the silence. “I am forever referring to any bloke you bring round as Mr. Dragon-Prick. That’s bloody _brilliant_ , Ron.” 

Draco raised his pint, Ron, Blaise, and Harry following, and they all laughed. 

I might have imagined it, but I thought Harry might have looked a bit relieved. 

Regardless, I was now convinced there was something more going on between Harry and Draco. 

And I was going to get to the bottom of it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, it's so hard to write from Hermione's POV, and I'm still not entirely convinced I got it right, but oh well. 
> 
> As always, please leave a comment!
> 
> Also, for those so inclined, next chapter will involve smut ;)


	18. Fuck It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So why, exactly, was Draco late for work this morning?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pretty much pure smut. But shmoopy smut. 
> 
> As always, comments are appreciated!

_Thursday Morning  
_

27 _August 2009_

_Flashback: Draco’s POV  
  
_

I awoke, for the third time in my life, to Harry wrapped tightly around me.

I won’t lie.

It was fucking bliss.

Harry was on his side, facing me, one arm tucked up under his sweet little head, which was snuggled into the crook of my neck, our bodies turned towards each other, legs a tangled mess, and I couldn’t have been fucking happier. 

Harry. Fucking. Potter.

Saviour of the Wizarding World.

Snuggle Monster Extraordinaire.

Conqueror of Draco Malfoy’s Heart. 

I didn’t even try to deny it at this point, what, with Potter snuggled so lovingly against me. 

I was bloody done for. 

Harry had me. 

One-hundred per cent. 

Question was… did he have any idea? 

Did it matter?

I rolled my eyes (to myself… was I the only one who did that?) and chided myself a bit. 

No need to become a schmoopy mess overnight. 

I must have shifted or somehow pulled away in my thought process because Harry suddenly clutched at me, drawing me closer, and I couldn’t help but smile down at him and breathe in the scent of his hair. 

“Harry,” I murmured, threading a hand through his silken mop, continuing down his back and cupping his arse gently. 

“Mmm,” he replied, still asleep, dreaming, I hoped, of wonderful things. 

“Wake up,” I urged, pulling his arse even further towards me, grinding my cock into his hip.

“Harry,” I whispered again, dipping my head down to nuzzle at that sensitive spot on his neck, just behind his ear, where I could nip and mark him whilst I still managed to inhale the sweet scent of him. 

“Mmmm,” he sighed again, neck arching, offering me better access, as his body stretched out alongside mine, leaving me no damned bloody doubt that I’d been right nicknaming him kitten.

“Draco,” he mumbled body curling once more around mine. “Want you.” 

“M’kay,” I replied, as best I could, mouth still occupied with sucking and licking a trail down his neck and around his collarbone.

“ _Now_.” 

Kitten actually pressed me away from him to glare up at me, insisting.   
Clearly, I’d forgotten how demanding Harry could be. 

Since, you know, last night. 

When he’d insisted we fuck one more time, after having been magically tied to my dining table, fucked open by two separate dildos, for the better part of the evening. 

“Shh,” I urged, pressing a kiss to the side of his head, just above his ear. 

“You’ll have me, Harry,” I assured him, dipping down to lap at his luscious mouth, hips rolling down to press into his cock, already hard and dripping. 

“Mmm,” he groaned, rocking his hips back up into mine. 

“Good,” he sighed, those bloody ridiculous green eyes of his snapping open to stare at me.

“Love when you’re inside me, Draco,” he added, and I just about fucking died, because who _wouldn’t_ die if they’d been lucky enough to hear Harry’s raspy, sleepy morning voice declare that fact. 

A tiny part of my brain reminded me that I should probably be getting ready for work.

Another, much larger part of my brain recognised by the way the sun was slanting in through the window that I was probably already late.

A quick Tempus charm told me it was just before 9 am. 

The tiny part of my brain kicked into panic mode at the thought of being late for work. 

Fuck it, the larger part reasoned, as Harry’s mouth captured mine again. 

What harm could possibly come from being late just this once? 

“ _Harry,_ ” I groaned, sliding further down his body, mouth moving constantly to place kisses and nibbles along his torso as I made my way to his hips.

“Your body ought to be illegal,” I informed him, licking up the indentations of one of his hipbones, hands grasping at his hips, thumbs likely digging bruises as he tried to arch off the mattress.

“Then _do_ something about it,” he all but growled out, hands guiding my face to lap gently at his straining cock. 

I smiled to myself as I dipped lower and reached the tip of my tongue out to lick lightly up the seam of his balls, returning for another delicate lick, dipping even lower to lap at his pink hole. 

“Merlin, Harry,” I groaned, licking another languid stripe up his luscious arse. 

“How are you so fucking delicious?” I sighed, tongue returning to lap and tease at him, licking around and over his opening before pointing and pushing in, demanding entrance.

I slid in easily, Harry still loose from last night, and I lost no time working my tongue in and out of the velvety heat of him. 

“Draco,” he sighed, hands clutching at the back of my head.

“Yes. _Fuck_. Gods, please,” he begged, hips canting upwards, legs wrapping around my head so that he could get a better angle to fuck himself onto my tongue. 

My only response was to stiffen my tongue even more, curling it deep inside of Harry as his moans intensified, urging me to continue. 

“Gods, Harry,” I sighed, pulling away, at last, to lick and trace the slackened rim with the tip of my tongue. 

“I could eat you for days,” I told him, fastening my mouth to him, tongue swirling into him shamelessly as I resumed feasting on Harry. 

Harry’s moans grew louder and longer as I continued licking and sucking, losing myself in the musky taste of him, groaning into him as he clenched around me, drawing me in further, my tongue fucking in and out of his sweet hole as though the universe itself depended on it.

“Draco,” Harry cried out, arching off the mattress, hands still tangling in my hair.

“Please,” he begged, hands pulling at me urgently, trying to drag me up and away from the sweet core of him. 

“I need you, now,” he whimpered, pulling at me again. 

“Harry,” I sighed, kissing and licking my way up his body, allowing his hands to yank and pull at my hair in his desperation to pull me back up to his mouth, his teeth grabbing at my bottom lip, tongue lapping frantically into my mouth as his arms and legs wrapped around me, pulling me close. 

“Need you,” he gasped, still pressing his signature little kitten kisses into my mouth. 

“Please,” he begged again. 

“Gods, Harry,” I sighed again, kissing that sweet, plump mouth of his thoroughly. 

I didn’t even think before sinking my entire length into him, eyes snapping shut, a positively embarrassingly guttural growl tearing from me as I did so. 

Not that Harry seemed to mind, the way his hips rose to meet mine, still clinging to me as though I alone could make his world right.

“Draco,” he whimpered, clutching at me when I buried my face in his neck, biting and sucking as I gave in to the deliciously tight squeeze of him around me, driving in and out of his velvety warmth with long, sure strokes, withdrawing almost completely before sinking back in, deep as I could, hips angling to brush against that tight bundle of nerves that made Harry’s moans practically turn to sobs. 

Endless pleas of “ _more_ ” and “ _yes_ ” and “ _please_ ” and “ _harder_ ” mixed with my name tumbled from his lips as I continued fucking him, mouth seeking his between breathy gasps and moans, hips picking up speed, driving into him harder with each thrust, the slapping of our bodies echoing throughout the room. 

“Oh, _gods…_ Fuck! _Draco_ , yes!” he cried, turning his head to sink his teeth into the cord running down my neck, mouth sucking and tongue lapping to soothe the sting.

Seconds later, I felt Harry’s body tighten even further around me, mouth latching on to my neck once more and I groaned, eyes fluttering shut as I came, hips still driving into Harry until I collapsed on top of him. 

“Mmmm,” I sighed, leaning down to press another kiss to his mouth.

“Mmmm,” he agreed, turning his body so that he was snuggling into my side once more. 

“Shit!” I cried, sitting bolt upright. 

Another Tempus told me it was now 9:53. 

“I have to go,” I explained hastily, clambering over Harry and dashing into the bathroom, giving my mouth a hasty, cursory scrub with my toothbrush, leaning down to rinse and splash my face with water, completely forgoing my morning routine.

“I’m so fucking late,” I continued, dashing into my closet and grabbing a suit, shirt, and tie and, literally, throwing them on.

“Hermione’s going to fucking kill me,” I added, hopping on one foot, then the other in my haste to get my socks on. 

There was no time to even sit, you see. 

“Hermione?” Harry asked, sitting up and staring at me in shock, post-orgasmic bliss vanishing at the mention of his friend’s name. 

“Shit, I forgot you work with her,” he mumbled. “She’s _awful_ about tardiness.” 

I rolled my eyes as I ran back into my closet and grabbed a pair of shoes. 

“Normally, I’m worse than she is,” I informed him, raking a hand through my hair, briefly wondering if Hermione would notice how dishevelled I was, for the first time in my life, lamenting my fastidious nature. 

Harry looked positively horrified as he stared at me from the bed while I hurriedly crammed my feet into the shoes. 

“I don’t think that’s even _possible_ , Draco,” he assured me. 

I smirked up at him as I tied the laces.

“Why don’t you ask her, sometime?” I challenged, straightening up. 

“Well… sorry to fuck and run,” I grinned at him as I accioed my briefcase to me. 

Harry rolled his eyes.

“Bye,” he murmured, stretching as he snuggled back into the sheets, causing me to wonder briefly what would happen if I just didn’t show up at work one day. 

They couldn’t fire me for not showing up just once, could they? 

I shook my head and shut my eyes against the inviting picture a naked, sleepy Harry made in bed and apparated before I could change my mind. 


	19. The Musings of the Obsessed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We get our first glimpse of the Erised app's mysterious creator....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. I am so sorry for how long it took to update this fic. Partly I was working on another chapter, then felt the need to add a few more chapters before the chapter I was writing on, and, well. You get the idea.
> 
> 2\. I have had no less than seven interviews for two absolute dream jobs in the past week which have kept me rather busy... but excited and who the hell would've thought I'd be interviewing for two such positions in the midst of a world pandemic? 
> 
> 3\. The good news... upside? Is that I now have several chapters (almost) ready to post, so promise not to leave no activity for nearly two weeks! 
> 
> 4\. Hope you all are well and not going absolutely insane indoors!

_Friday Evening_

_28 August 2009_

_Anonymous_

It’d been weeks. 

And still, nothing. 

I took a drag on my cigarette and leaned back in the grass of Hampstead Heath gazing up at the sky, tonight a fiery orange as the sun set on another week. 

A whole week. 

Something wasn’t right. 

I sighed and glanced down at my phone, pulling open the Erised app. 

It cost a pretty penny, this latest version. 

Guaranteed that the buyer would be able to capture the affection of their own heart’s desire. 

No. Matter. What.

Of course, refunds and product guarantee were an iffy sort of thing when sneaking around the shops in Knockturn Alley. 

And, of course, I was the creator of the damn app. 

Or, the creator of the potion and related charm needed to place both the Mirror of Erised app on your intended’s device and the monitoring app onto your own. 

It was a tricky little operation, which was why I’d decided to sell it to other love-sick witches and wizards desperate to end the longing of unrequited love before trying it out myself. 

Not to mention the number of galleons selling said potion combo sent to my vault at Gringotts. 

Within a few weeks it was obvious there was a lot of work to do on this goddamned app. 

Apparently I’d made it just a tad too similar to the original famed Mirror of Erised and some assholes got it in their heads that they could use the app to storm the Ministry and even try to rob Gringotts. 

Fucking asshole idiots. 

I’d spent the next few weeks convinced someone was going to figure out I was behind this, despite all of my careful planning and meticulously-applied glamours, and had pulled the potion-charm combo from Knockturn Alley immediately. 

After all, I’d waited this long. 

I could wait a little longer, waiting for the media frenzy to die down, and perfect my craft. 

I mean, I wasn’t going to use it myself until it was absolute perfection. 

I wasn’t going to risk using it on him and having it backfire. 

Not when I’d been waiting for so goddamn long. 

Watching him and wanting him.

Meanwhile, he went out and fucked all of gay London except _me,_ apparently. 

But that was all ok. 

I had the app, after all. 

And now, it was perfect. 

Strange cases of long-time lovers, partners, and spouses suddenly up and leaving their loved ones, strangely obsessed with a new love interest kept popping up. 

Occasionally, another idiot moron tried to use it for personal gain, totally ignoring the carefully worded warning that came with each purchase. 

Sometimes the app was discovered, more often, thankfully not. 

And yet, it’d been a week since I’d cast the charm into his phone. 

And nothing. 

I frowned and checked my monitoring app, which still showed his interest as zero. 

Like I didn’t even fucking exist. 

Like always. 

Why wasn’t it working? 

I sighed and stood, dusting the grass from my pants. 

Trousers, excuse me. 

Fucking three years in London and I still called them pants and still got snickers from all my friends whenever I said it. 

Clearly I was going to have to figure some shit out. 

I hadn’t spent years developing this app for nothing, after all. 


	20. Absences Only Makes a Kitten Needier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry's been away in Scotland for work the past few days.  
> What happens when he sees Draco again?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two short chapters tonight...
> 
> As always, comments are loved and appreciated!

_Sunday Evening_

_30 August 2009_

_Draco’s POV_

“Gods, I’ve missed you,” Harry sighed, arms reaching up to wrap around my neck, fingers tangling in my hair as I pulled his body up against mine, meeting him for a frantic kiss. 

He’d apparated into my flat mere seconds earlier after having spent the past three days in Scotland; he’d left on Thursday, just after our group lunch, for training before the big match against Puddlemere on Saturday evening. 

They had won by six points, which was fantastic for two teams so evenly matched.

Harry had then remained in Edinburgh all of Sunday because he’d made plans to have Sunday lunch with Oliver Wood and his family weeks ago, and, while he, apparently, felt fine standing up the Weasleys to laze around in bed with me post-shag, the Woods were another matter. 

“Me, too,” I mumbled, hands fumbling at the fastening of his trousers, his t-shirt having already been yanked up, and off, and tossed somewhere between my entryway and the hallway we were now navigating, hands roaming, tongues teasing into each other’s mouths, groans and sighs being swallowed by one another. 

I pressed Harry up against the wall, my bedroom seeming much too far off, dragging one leg up to wrap around my hip as I trailed kisses down his neck, licking and sucking along his collarbone, the marks from the last time we’d been together having already faded. 

“Mmm, Draco,” he sighed, the other leg rising up to join the other wrapped around my waist as Harry arched against me, grinding his cock up into mine, hands continuing to wind in my hair, pressing my mouth even harder against the delicate skin of his neck, his moans only begging me to mark him further. 

“Harry,” I sighed, tongue caressing his own as I licked back into his mouth, unsure as to what it was I was trying to say. 

If I even _had_ anything to say, or if, maybe, I just needed to feel his name on my lips to seal Harry’s undisputed victory over me as I all but drowned in the sight, smell, and feel of him around and beneath me. 

“Yes,” he mumbled, tongue and mouth still working against my own, leaving me to wonder if perhaps I _had_ said something more. 

“ _More_ ,” he urged, one hand disengaging from my hair to cup my jaw, pressing my face further into his own. 

“Need you to fuck me,” he demanded as the remainder of our clothing vanished, causing us both to groan into each other, each sensation now heightened by the slick slide of skin against skin. 

“Yes,” I replied, casting a featherweight charm and hoisting Harry away from the wall, stumbling once more towards the bedroom but only making it a few steps before my lust-addled brain had me pressing Harry into the opposite wall, mouth dragging down his torso to wrap around his hardened length, lapping and swirling at the leaking tip and groaning at the salty-sweet taste of him on my tongue. 

“Going to fuck you,” I managed to gasp out, withdrawing my mouth from him for only as long as it took to pant the words out. 

“Please,” Harry moaned, hips working his cock in and out of my mouth as I greedily continued to suck him down, hands still roaming to touch every available inch of skin I could reach. 

I moved my head to lick and suck at Harry’s exquisite hipbones, hands sliding down to grip at his luscious arsecheeks, prising them apart, kneading them in my hands, before returning to slurp at his cock once more.

“Now, Malfoy,” he growled, pulling me up off his prick, mouth fastening hungrily to mine, tongue swirling in and back out before I could even think to tangle it with my own. 

Harry began to walk me backwards towards the bedroom, an almost crazed urgency emanating from him that told me now was not the time for teasing. 

“Ok,” I mumbled between kisses, one heel smacking firmly into the doorjamb as Harry continued to steer us towards the bedroom. 

I didn’t even take the time to verbally acknowledge the pain shooting up through my heel, I was so focused on Harry. 

Kissing him, hands running up and down his back, one coming to rest behind his head, the other gripping at his perfectly round arse, both trying desperately to press him even more closely against me as we stumbled towards the bed. 

“You’re going to fuck me _now_ ,” Harry was informing me, hands shoving at my shoulders, knocking me back to land soundly on the bed, staring up at him in a daze.

“But first,” he continued, clambering onto my lap to straddle me, mouth leaning down to nip at mine as he wrapped his arms around my neck, rolling sideways, to pull me down on top of him. 

“But first?” I encouraged, grinding my hips down to rock against his. 

“First, you’re going to get me good and ready for you,” he sighed, body arching up into mine. 

He grabbed hold of my face and held me so my gaze was locked on his, hips stilling momentarily to ensure I was giving him my full attention. 

“You,” he informed me, a devilish glint flaring in those emerald eyes as he leaned up to lick into my mouth. 

“Are going to take,” another lick, tongue swirling and lingering just a tad longer, but not long enough, and I groaned, head trying to dip down and follow him.

Harry kept me held firm and away from my goal, a tiny smirk appearing on those luscious lips of his. 

“That positively _wicked_ ,” his eyes snapped shut as he gently rolled his hips up into mine, just enough to tease. 

“ _Evil_ , goddamned tongue of yours,” he paused again to lick into my mouth, again, only long enough to tease, relishing in the strangled moan I gave as I once again tried to follow his mouth as he sank back into the mattress. 

“And you’re going to tease me open with it,” he instructed me, hips arching, hands still holding me much too far away from his own positively wicked mouth. 

“You’re going to lick me, and tease me, and do that swirly thing with your tongue that drives me fucking _insane_ …” he trailed off, allowing his eyes to slide shut in anticipation. 

“And then, you’re going to fuck me.” 

Another teasing lick into my mouth. 

“The way I _deserve_ to be fucked after three whole days without your cock,” he finished, a pleased smirk spreading across his face as I faltered for a brief moment at the positively filthy imagery his words presented. 

“Fuck, Harry,” I sighed, still staring down at him. 

His smirk deepened. 

Really, though. 

Harry smirking was a very dangerous thing. 

“Yes,” he sighed, hands twining themselves through my hair once more as he leaned up to place a lingering kiss on my mouth. 

“Fuck Harry,” he agreed, hands gently guiding me down his torso, not allowing my mouth to linger too long on any particular area until I was trailing lazily along his hipbone, tongue gliding down the sensitive juncture of his groin as his legs wrapped around me, guiding me towards my ultimate goal. 

An urgent moan tore itself from my throat as I leaned in to give Harry’s sweet opening a frenzied lick, returning almost immediately to swirl round the pulsing, pink pucker, mouth fastening to it, tongue pushing forward, seeking the delicious heat of him. 

Above me, Harry groaned in response, hands holding me close to the luscious core of him, hips rocking against my desperately seeking mouth as I began to lap and swirl at him in earnest, demanding entrance, eager to progress to the next step of fucking my sweet Harry. 

I couldn’t have told you if it was mere minutes or the better part of an hour that I was there, licking and fucking Harry with my mouth until my jaw was aching. 

Not that an aching jaw would have made me stop. 

Not when Harry was practically screaming in pleasure, hands raking through my hair, working with his sinewy legs to pull me into him as his hips fucked desperately back into my face, his hole opening and grasping readily around my coiling tongue. 

“Harry,” I groaned, head turning to suck a purple bruise into his thigh. 

“Need to… now,” I gasped, disentangling myself from his grasp, beyond desperate with need, swiping haphazardly at my mouth with the back of one hand before moving to kiss my way up his frame. 

“Yes, _please_ ,” he sobbed, body continuing to arc up into mine. 

I reached a hand down, fingers slick with lube, to push into him, causing him to let out the most delicious moan as my mouth claimed his. 

I continued to swallow Harry’s moans, each one longer and more guttural than the last, as I worked him open with first two, then three fingers. 

When Harry was practically screaming and bucking up against my hand with an urgency that almost matched my own, I finally withdrew my fingers and rose above him, lining my aching cock with his hole, the warm, pulsing heat of it working immediately to draw the tip of me inside, and, with a groan of absolute bliss, I slid in.

“Oh, _gods, yes!”_ Harry cried, body stretching up, swallowing just another few centimetres in the process, making my eyes actually roll backwards into my head. 

“Yes,” I gasped in response, hips already working to drive into him, our bodies slapping together as he rose to meet me. 

We continued, the fucking becoming frantic - a wild meeting of frenzied hips and lips as we bucked against each other furiously, chasing down that imminent release until it crashed over us both, every inch of Harry’s body squeezing deliciously around my own as I drove into him, giving him every damn piece of everything that was me until I collapsed on top of him, his arms and legs still clutching at me, mouth latching onto my neck sucking, what was sure to be, an absolutely stunning bruise onto me. 

“Fuck, Draco,” he gasped, once we’d recovered and were breathing somewhat normally again. 

“Mmm,” I responded, rolling off of him and gathering him to my side, clearing up the mess as I did so. 

“You’re not allowed to go another three days without fucking me senseless ever again,” he informed me.

“M’kay,” I agreed immediately, even though part of me understood that, with both of our demanding schedules, such a request wasn’t even remotely possible. 

Not to mention, I reasoned to myself, snuggling deeper into Harry’s sweet scent, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t absolutely looking forward to our next meeting after an extended absence. 


	21. Obsession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione notices that Draco arrives at work, barely on-time and dishevelled, for the second time this week.
> 
> More meetings with Davies & Williams from the Love Chamber. What will our brainy duo discover about the Erised app?

_Wednesday Morning_

_02 September 2009_

_Hermione’s POV_

It was only Wednesday, and it’d already been a hell of a week. 

I sat at my desk, shrugging off my coat as I did so, and noticed that Draco’s desk was, as yet, still empty, and couldn’t help but smirk at myself.

He’d come scampering in right at 8:59 on Monday, his suit and hair adorably mussed, practically stammering an apology about “running late again,” before launching straight into a discussion of his thoughts over our meeting with Davies and Williams, our Senior Research partners in the Love Chamber. 

_“What did you think of the meeting Friday?” he’d asked unpacking his briefcase._

_“I thought it went well,” I’d replied, almost immediately. “They gave us a lot of information to go over.”_

_“Did they, though?” he’d asked, eyes narrowing slightly. “I mean, do you think any of it particularly useful for the Erised case? It was all fascinating, but I don’t see how it’s going to help us any.”_

My musings were interrupted by Draco bursting through our office door, at 8:56, once again taking his seat across from me, unpacking his briefcase, eyes glancing up to mine momentarily. 

“Erm…” 

“Running late again?” I guessed, making sure to take my time going over his charmingly rumpled hair and suit, once again, clearly just thrown on before arriving at the Ministry.

“Erm… yeah,” he affirmed, giving me a tiny smile. 

“Thinking I should probably figure out a new signature look. One that doesn’t take up so much time,” he quipped, running a hand through his tousled hair. 

“Absolutely,” I replied, nodding with mock seriousness. “Certainly not just getting out of bed earlier.”

“Granger-Weasley,” Draco smirked, taking out a sheaf of parchment and flipping through it. “Honestly, what would be the fun in that?” 

I rolled my eyes and threw a wadded up piece of parchment at him. 

“Anyway,” I said pointedly, looking through my own notes. “We’ve another meeting with Davies and Williams this morning. Since you’re of the opinion that the information they provided last time wasn't all that helpful, is there anything, in particular, you’d like for us to discuss today?” 

Draco sighed.

“Yes, and no,” he said, frowning, and I couldn’t help rolling my eyes again. “I mean, I think there’s definitely information they can provide but I don’t think we understand enough about how the app functions to ask the correct questions.” 

I nodded. 

“Ok, so… let’s just meet with them and see where it goes?” 

Draco nodded and yawned, stretching his arms above his head.

“Do you need coffee?” I asked, grinning.

“No,” he sighed, grinning at me ruefully. 

“I need to stop letting this bloke distract me when I’m trying to research,” he admitted, and I jerked my head back up to look at him in surprise.

“You let him distract you from your research?” I echoed doubtfully. 

Draco Malfoy was, perhaps, almost as fastidious and driven as I was when it came to his work. 

Honestly, we argued, often, and heatedly, about who was the more finicky of the two of us when it came to researching, note-taking, and the like. 

Ron and Blaise insisted that the fact we would even argue something like that, as though it were something worth bragging about, was reason enough for us both to share the “most-boring-person-in-the-world” prize, as my dear husband so lovingly put it. 

“I’d let this one distract me from just about anything,” Draco admitted, resting his chin in his hand and gazing off into the distance, clearly remembering last night or some other fond memory of this bloke. 

Who, you remember, I had my suspicions, happened to be my best mate. 

“Merlin, Draco,” I teased, shuffling through more parchment. “Are you sure someone hasn’t snuck the app onto your phone?” 

Draco snorted and sat upright once more.

“You think I didn’t put a protective spell around all of my devices the day I learnt of that stupid app?” he demanded haughtily. “Put one on his, too. Not taking any chances.” 

He paused and frowned.

“Have you put one on yours? And Ron’s?” he asked, eyes snapping in my direction, any joking or taunting aside. “Just to be sure? I mean, you never know.” 

I shook my head, ignoring Draco's off-hand, most-likely unintended slight that it'd be a stretch anyone would try to put the Erised app on either my or Ron's mobile. 

“Perhaps you should do it,” I told him, holding my mobile up to him. 

There were very few people in the world who had access to, and the ability to execute, the sort of protective spells someone like Malfoy would know. 

Draco took out his wand and swished it at my device and I felt a surge of magic enveloping it. 

“Thanks,” I said, smiling gratefully. “We’ll have to get Ron’s later.” 

***

An hour later, Draco and I were seated in the main chamber of the Thought Room awaiting the arrival of Davies and Williams. 

“Morning,” Davies chirped as they entered. 

He was a cheerful, middle-aged man, just beginning to go grey around his temples and had been doing research in the Love Chamber for about a decade. 

Williams, his partner, was a few years younger than Draco and I, and about as brilliant as they come. 

He’d began working as a Senior Researcher in the Love Room a few years ago, at the age of twenty-two, being the youngest person ever appointed to such a position in over two-hundred years. 

“Morning,” I replied, smiling up at them.

“Davies, Williams,” Draco nodded at them each, in turn, gesturing to the chairs across from us, indicating that they should have a seat. 

“Have a good weekend?” Davies asked, taking the seat opposite me. “Hope you two had some actual time off, what with this case.” 

“I did,” I assured him. “Didn’t think about work for almost the entire weekend.” 

Davies was like a giant teddy bear, a father-figure to everyone in the department, really. 

“This case has nothing to do with actual love,” Draco said cutting right to the chase. 

Draco never was one to bother with small talk, but really. 

I shot him a pointed glare, which he, just as pointedly, ignored.

“I don’t mean to say you’ve nothing relevant to share,” he went on, seeing the taken-aback looks both Davies and Williams had on their faces. 

“But the nutter behind this is clearly obsessed, which I think you’ll both agree is something quite different from love,” he looked at them both in turn, giving each an opportunity to disagree, should they have wanted to. 

“So,” Draco continued, shuffling through some of his parchment. “What is the difference between obsession and love? When does the one slide into the other? And where does thought figure into all of it?” 

He paused to look at all of us again. 

“If we can find where all three intersect, I think we’ll have a much clearer understanding, not only of our suspect’s motive but their state of mind and what, exactly, they hope to gain from this app.” 

“Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it?” I asked, frowning.

“They want to gain the undying love of their… their… person…” I finished lamely, not sure what to call the target of the Erised app in this particular conversation. 

“Yes, but I think Draco has a point,” Williams spoke up. “There are tons of different types of love; for example, I love my family, I love my dog, I love this department, I love my partner. What I want, and what I would consider a satisfactory reciprocation of said love from each is a very different situation. Understanding what the suspect wants as their end-goal could be key.” 

Williams paused and frowned in thought.

“I’m not sure I agree with you on your ideas regarding obsession, though.”

He paused and looked at Draco before continuing.

“I think the two are much more related than you realise.” 

“What do you think?” he asked, shifting his gaze to Davies, as though seeking confirmation.

Davies sighed, brow furrowing as he took out some of his own parchment.

“It’s difficult to say,” he said at last. “I think there is a difference, however, that line is quite blurry. And, if I’m to be entirely honest, quite often invisible to those who cross it.” 

“Well, how would you say thought factors into this?” I asked, understanding Draco’s questioning regarding our department and the sliding, blurry scale presented by Davies and Williams with sudden clarity. 

“I mean,” I clarified. “Would you say thought, and the brain’s ability to process situations, is affected at all by crossing that line?” 

“Most definitely,” Davies stated at the exact same moment as Williams declared:

“Absolutely not.” 

“Interesting,” Draco remarked, grinning at me. 

“Well, I suppose that’s your area of expertise,” Williams added, looking first at Draco then at me. 

“I would say that obsession, just by its very definition, begins to remove actual thought from the equation, although the brain would still be very much involved,” I began, taking a brief pause to gather my thoughts. 

“It’d be almost like an addiction,” I continued, brow furrowing. “The brain is functional, somewhat, but is convinced it needs this _thing_ to continue functioning.” 

“And you two are positive the app is causing people to obsess, not love?” Williams asked. 

“I’m not sure,” I said, just as Draco ascertained:

“Definitely.” 

I suppose we had to let Davies and Williams know that we also disagreed on things. 

“Well, you’ve been out on the field and interacting with more of the afflicted than I have,” I admitted. 

“They’re all obsessed,” Draco insisted. “They’ve hardly any idea what day or month it is, even. Anything outside of the person with whom they’re obsessed. That’s it. It’s all their brain can focus on.” 

“Love begins with obsession, though, right?” Williams interjected.

“I mean, I think there’s definitely a correlation,” Davies glanced at me and grinned good-naturedly. “What do you say, Hermione? Seeing as we’re the only two in this room who are in love, at the moment?” 

Draco, Williams, and I all burst out laughing.

“What, Kipp?” Williams joked, doing his best to look put off. “You don’t think Draco and I are capable of finding love?” 

“Quiet, you," Draco interjected, grinning.

"But, to bring us back on topic,” he continued, because, of course, he would, “I think you’ve a point, Davies. I think when one is falling in love it feels very much like obsession, and it should, do you agree?” 

He was, I realised, speaking from first-hand experience, and I couldn’t help a small smile in his direction. 

“You’re, literally, two people who’ve found each other and are in the process of uniting, becoming one. You’re fusing your lives, mind, body, soul, and so I’d imagine it’d feel a bit obsessive." Draco was on a roll now. 

Davies nodded, as though encouraging Draco to continue.

“But, if it’s actual love, the obsession will eventually die away. It’d have to so that you could continue to function and carry on with the everyday. You’d still be in love, clearly, but able to function as two individuals, one complementing the other, correct?” 

“Crikey,” Davies chuckled. “Yes, very astute, Malfoy. Are you sure you don’t want to transfer to the Love Chamber?”

“Quite,” Draco replied, a good-natured smile in place so as not to offend. 

“That all being said, I think it’s worth asking ourselves if the creator of our little app realises this. That for their delusional relationship to survive, the obsession must give way to actual sentiment. Obsession fuelled by nothing but pure need can surely only die.” 

Davies looked around at all of us questioningly. 

“So, now Death comes into the picture,” Draco muttered, more to himself than aloud. 

“Death is always in the picture,” I reminded him. “It’s inevitable, as are the effects of time. Thought and Love aren’t actually guaranteed anyone, which is why, I think, our research so easily funnels into the other two realms.” 

“I think,” Williams spoke up, “it’s safe to say that love is a necessity in life. Not necessarily the romantic love you think of immediately, but love, in general. As are things such as oxygen and food. They all exist on a scale. Too much or too little of any of it, and you’ll die.”

“Existence is all about balance, then?” I clarified.

Williams nodded.

“Yes, although I’m not so sure our suspect understood that when creating his app.” 

“I think,” Davies said slowly, “we’ve all been given quite a bit to think about. What if we give ourselves some time to delve back into our own research and we can meet again next week?” 

“Sounds like a plan,” Draco agreed, looking at me to see if I had any objections. 

“There’s definitely a lot to go over,” I admitted. “Shall we say 10 am on Monday?” 

"No objections here,” Davies assured us, Williams nodding his head in agreement, mobile already out to add the appointment to his calendar. 

“Right, then, happy researching, and all,” Davies grinned as he and Williams stood and filed out of the room.

“Well,” I turned to Draco, brows raised expectantly. “Do you still think they had no information for us?” 

“Bastards were holding out on us,” he joked, grabbing up his parchment and heading back towards our office. 

“Hurry up, Mione, we’ve got loads of work to do.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. I realise that the "Thought Room" should actually be called the "Brain Room" according to cannon, but not sure I really want to go back and make all the changes. Any of you have any thoughts on this? I kind of like the sound of Thought Room better, but.... 
> 
> 2\. Thank you again to all of you for being so wonderful.  
> Your comments really got me through this week... received a pretty negative comment, which hit me a lot harder than I would have expected.  
> In the end, I read the story using a different lens, trying to take said comment as constructive criticism and decided there really wasn't much basis for it.  
> Then I went and read every single one of all your lovely, supportive comments, suggestions, and ideas and it warmed my icy lil' Slytherin/Ravenclaw heart. 
> 
> Honestly, tho. Thank you all for being so positive, and expressing questions or feedback in a constructive or questioning light. We're all here for the same reason, namely, Drarry, right?


	22. The Reveal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I mean, the title pretty much says it all, right?
> 
> Enjoy my lovelies, and, as usual, comments are appreciated!

_Friday Afternoon_

04 _September 2009_

_Blaise’s POV_

“Blaise, we’re meeting for pints again,” Ron informed me, rubbing tiredly at his eyes with the palms of his hands. 

“Care to join?” he asked, hands dropping to his desk, eyes looking at me expectantly. 

“Sure,” I replied, reaching to massage the back of my neck. “Who’s we?” 

“Me, you, Hermione, Draco,” Ron listed off. 

“I’m assuming we can convince Harry and Pansy to join. Any chance Anaïs will be able to find someone to watch the kids and come along?” 

I shrugged.

“Probably… hopefully,” I responded to each of his questions, already texting home, following up with a second text to Pansy. 

“Where are we meeting?” I asked as Pansy’s response pinged back almost immediately. 

“The Magpie,” Ron answered. “It’s just round the corner once you get to Muggle London.” 

I nodded as I forwarded the name and address to Pansy. 

“I assume we’re celebrating the Magpie’s victory last weekend?” I grinned. 

The team had played an absolutely brilliant match against Puddlemere, Harry, of course, swooping in with a spectacular dive at the end to catch the Snitch, ending the match, and making it clear that Puddlemere were going to have to keep bringing their A-game if they had any hopes of winning the League Cup this year. 

“Yep,” Ron grinned back. “That’s actually how we found it. Hermione dragged Harry and me there when he signed on with the Magpies, but it’s actually a great place to get a pint. And their pies are to die for.” 

Ron knew I loved an excellent pie.

“Erm… Mione said Draco went home for lunch. And that this is the first time he’s ever eaten lunch at home?” 

Ron glanced up at me questioningly, as though unsure why his wife might be texting him Draco’s eating habits. 

I, however, knew instantly why Hermione was sharing this piece of information.

“He is _not_ going home,” I assured Ron.

“He’s not?” 

“I mean, maybe he is… but he’s not eating lunch,” I snorted, making a mental note to grill Draco relentlessly about his mystery man when we met up this evening. 

“I’m texting that to Hermione verbatim,” Ron informed me, thumbs flying across his mobile.

“Don’t do that!” I protested, sitting up straight, jaw dropping. 

“Why not?” he asked, setting his mobile down and looking back at me. “She can handle it. She’s not a prude, you know.” 

“I know that, but…” I frowned and leaned back in my chair. 

“She said to ask if you’ve met him or anything yet.” 

“No,” I shook my head. “Not yet.”

“She wants to know if you know anything more about him. Even a name?”

I shook my head.

Not more than fifteen seconds later, Hermione appeared in our office, a sandwich in hand, holding out a second sandwich to Ron. 

“That doesn’t seem strange to you?” she asked immediately, sitting on the edge of his desk and looking at me expectantly. 

“What?” I asked.

“That you don’t even know the name of this bloke?” her eyes narrowed suspiciously as she took a bite. 

“Not really,” I shrugged.

Draco was weird like that. 

“Well, what _do_ you know about him?” Ron asked, leaning over to sneak a bite of Hermione’s sandwich, earning him a glare and half-hearted smack across his head. 

“Not a whole lot,” I replied, rummaging around in my desk for my own lunch. 

Ham and Gruyère on a baguette. Or, you know, the closest thing Anaïs had been able to find to a real French baguette so far. 

“I know that seems weird to you,” I added, taking a bite. “But that’s kind of just how Draco is. He’s very secretive and doesn’t give you a lot of information on purpose.” 

I rolled my eyes as I took another bite.

“I mean, I’m pretty sure half the reason he became an Unspeakable is so that he can smirk at you and say ‘I can’t tell you’.” 

“So, you really don’t know anything?” Hermione asked, looking crestfallen.

“I mean, honestly, it’s kind of a good thing,” I reasoned, taking another bite of my sandwich and looking forward to the excellent baguettes and other pastries Anaïs would bring back next week when she returned from Paris. 

Ron and Hermione gave me puzzled looks. 

“It’s like, the less you know, the more serious it is,” I explained. 

“Which, when it’s, say, why he’s suddenly not eating and muttering to himself like a lunatic when we were in Sixth year, turned out to be a very bad thing,” I paused to chew.

“But when it’s something like Draco possibly meeting the man of his dreams, is a very good thing.” 

We sat for a moment in silence, all finishing the remainders of our lunches.

“Do you think he’d invite him to come have a few rounds with us tonight?” Hermione asked. 

“Hermione, Luv, your guess is as good as mine,” I sighed, wiping the crumbs up from my desk and looking her in the eye. 

“Why are you so interested in Draco’s love life, anyway?” 

Hermione licked her lips, averting her eyes momentarily before looking back at me.

“I… have a theory,” she said cautiously. 

I raised a brow at Ron, who shrugged. 

Granger hadn’t shared her theory with her husband yet? 

Interesting. 

Of course, I had a theory of my own. 

One that I’d banished to the back of my mind because surely it couldn’t be. 

I was surely thinking wistfully on Draco’s behalf with that one. 

There was no way. 

“Care to share this theory?” 

I was no Draco, but I could ask questions without belying my underlying motives. 

“Erm…” Hermione bit her lip and struggled to meet my eye. 

This was a good sign, really. 

“I may have theories of my own,” I added, deciding to meet her partway. 

Brown eyes snapped up to meet mine.

Hermione really was brilliant, I reminded myself. 

“My theory,” she began, licking her lips cautiously. 

“My theory involves an old classmate. From Hogwarts,” she clarified, as though we had attended more than one school together. 

“As does mine,” I replied, holding her gaze. 

Ron, bless him, was looking between the two of us in utter confusion. 

“It’d be the last person you might suspect,” Hermione continued.

“Would it?” I countered, raising an eyebrow. “I mean, seeing as we’re both suspecting him.” 

Hermione grinned and shrugged. 

“No,” Hermione agreed, standing up and glancing at her watch. 

“They’d be almost oddly suited,” she admitted. “But… I’d appreciate you helping me get as much information as possible out of him tonight?” 

“I’ll do my best,” I assured her. 

“You should probably head back to your office,” I added, glancing at the clock on the wall. “We wouldn’t want our little Dragon getting suspicious of your own lunchtime whereabouts, now, would we?” 

***

Four hours later, Ron and I found ourselves exiting the Ministry and strolling through Muggle London. 

“Is Anaïs coming?” he asked. 

I shook my head.

“No, she couldn’t find anyone to watch the kids. She’s headed back to France until Wednesday, though, so she didn’t mind looking after them tonight.” 

I don’t know why, but I always felt as though I needed to explain whenever Anaïs was so understanding about looking after the kids while we went out for a pint. 

To be honest, she didn’t really like beer and felt awkward in loud, jarring social situations so she often chose to stay home, using the kids as an excuse, waiting to meet and interact with our friends at smaller, more intimate gatherings at our various homes and such. 

It was probably the fact that he was married to Hermione, and I just assumed they were both judging me for going out while my wife stayed home with the kids. 

“Must be nice,” Ron mused. “I bet she brings wonderful pastries and chocolates back.” 

“That, she does,” I agreed, looking over to grin widely at my partner, making a mental note to gift him and Hermione some goodies next week as we walked into the pub.

Hermione and Draco were seated at one of the bar tables lining the wall, a round of pints already waiting. 

After the perfunctory greetings had been exchanged, Ron and I seated next to Hermione and Draco respectively, I decided to go straight for it. 

Hermione and I had to start questioning Draco. 

Quickly. 

Our only hope was to somehow surprise him into giving us some kind of clue, and that wasn’t going to come from skirting daintily around the issue. 

“So, is lover boy stopping by for a pint?” I asked Draco, taking a sip of my own, looking at him expectantly. 

“No,” he replied immediately, raising his own pint to his lips.

Of course, Draco didn’t offer any further explanation.

I continued to scrutinise him, looking for any hair or thread out of place, but he had, apparently, learned his lesson. 

He was immaculate, as usual, the only imperfection marring his perfectly-pressed suit and shirt being the hastily-tied tie and the unbuttoned first buttons on his jacket cuffs, both clearly done on purpose. 

“Why not?” Hermione asked innocently, and I just about kissed her. 

There was no way I could have asked Draco that without raising his suspicions. 

“He’s busy,” he responded, shrugging casually. 

We were interrupted then by the arrival of Pansy, who came in like a whirlwind, pecking each one of us on the cheek before pulling up a barstool between Hermione and myself, setting her own pint on the table. 

“Hello, darlings,” she sighed. “I’m so glad you invited me. Really needed a night out after the week I’ve had.” 

She paused to take a sip of her pint, then glanced around the table, frowning.

“Where’s Potter?” she demanded. 

“He is coming, isn’t he? I could really use his foul mouth and ability to pull a stupid bloke out of nowhere with his ridiculous dance moves to get my mind off this case,” she added. 

“Yeah, don’t worry,” Ron assured her. “He said he was on his way.” 

“Have you been tied up with cases from all the Erised shit going on?” he continued sympathetically. 

Pansy nodded, rolling her eyes.

“I really hope this shitbag gets caught soon,” she informed us, glaring at each one of us in turn, as though we were somehow personally responsible for this. 

The conversation, naturally, turned towards the Erised case, all of us offering what juicy gossip we could. 

The Ministry had decided that the motive was self-serving and that the attacks on Gringott’s and Shacklebot were an indicator that the entire thing had blown up into something larger than the perpetrator could control. 

Ron and I were on constant alert as Aurors, stopping minor scuffles and making arrests.

Pansy was up to her eyebrows in new cases to research and argue.

Who knew what Hermione and Draco were up to?

We were now nearly through our round of pints, but I was unsure how to get the conversation steered back to Draco and his mystery man without being much too obvious. 

I knew better than to glance at Hermione. 

Merlin, thankfully, was feeling a tad merciful this evening, and an absolute miracle occurred as Draco and Pansy went to fetch our second round. 

Draco’s mobile, which he’d left on the table, began to vibrate. 

I snatched it, flashing a victorious grin at Hermione, as I stared at the name on the screen.

I held it surreptitiously in my lap and tapped it lightly with my wand, murmuring an anti-Accio spell, then looked up at Draco, eyes sparkling in excitement, my smile only broadening at the worry that definitely flitted across his face as he and Pansy set the pints down.

“ _Kitten_?” I squealed in delight. “You call him _kitten?!”_

I felt a slight tug at the phone, my smile turning into a wicked smirk as Draco realised that his non-verbal Accio wasn’t going to help him any.

Bless him, he made a whole-hearted attempt to lunge at me, hand reaching for his precious mobile, but no luck for him. 

A few taps on my end answered the call from Draco’s “kitten” and put him on speaker for all the table to hear. 

Draco stopped dead in his tracks, a look of absolute horror on his face, all the blood draining, an almost deathly pallor taking over his face. 

“Draco?” asked an all-too-familiar voice. “Hullo? Draco? Are you there?”

I couldn’t help staring at Hermione, a triumphant smile on both our faces.

I turned my gaze back to Draco, who had his face resting in the palm of his left hand, eyes closed in surrender as I placed the phone back on the table.

“Yes, Harry,” he replied quietly, eyes opening to glance down at his phone, as though Harry himself might magically appear there. “I’m here.”

“ _Kitten_ ,” I mouthed teasingly, earning such a spiteful glare from my mate I’m surprised I didn’t melt on the spot as Ron and Pansy both sniggered. 

Hermione, bless her, was mature enough to hold back her reaction. 

“As are all of our mates,” Draco continued, glaring at us even more ferociously. “Because they’re insufferable, nosy bastards.” 

There was a pause. 

“ _Fuck_. Am I on speaker?”

“Yes,” Draco replied, glaring at me with renewed intensity. 

“And you can thank my cunt-of-a-friend, Blaise, for that.”

“Erm… thanks, Draco’s cunt-of-a-friend, Blaise,” came Harry’s reply almost immediately and Draco couldn’t help but laugh, almost affectionately, at that.

“Harry, you should come join us, now that it’s all out in the open,” I instructed as I took another sip from my pint. 

“Sure, ok,” Harry’s voice sounded distant, as though he’d also placed us on speaker and was now searching around for something.

“I mean,” he corrected, “I was on my way, just not as, you know…” 

“Erm, Draco?” Harry changed the topic suddenly. “I can’t find my shirt.” 

I could hear rummaging and objects being lifted and dropped in the background. 

“Potter, is your lazy arse _really_ still camped up at my flat?” Draco asked, shaking his head ruefully.

“No, but my ‘ _beautiful, perfect_ ’ one still is,” he replied, clearly parroting one of Draco’s more private adulations, and I couldn’t help but snigger along with everyone else.

“It needed a bit of a rest after you…”

“Potter,” Draco snapped, head jerking upright. “Speaker!”

“Oh… right,” Potter seemed to remember his audience as we all began sniggering again. 

“My t-shirt?” he asked again. 

“Just grab one of mine.”

“I can’t find them.” 

“They’re on the shelf on the left.” 

“I already looked there.”

“Then look harder,” Draco suggested. “And hurry your ‘ _beautiful_ , _perfect_ ’ arse down here and have something to drink with us. We’re at a pub called The Magpie.”

Draco paused and gave Hermione a knowing glance.

“I’ve a feeling at least _one_ of your sidekicks had her suspicions when she decided where we’d go for pints tonight.”

Harry laughed.

“Right. That’s our Hermione. I know the place. Be there soon.”

There was a flurry of conversation the minute Draco hung up. 

“Draco. Lucius. Malfoy!” Pansy scolded while Hermione and I both cried out:

“I _knew_ it!” 

Ron, however, let out a strange noise. Something between a soft wail and a whimper.

“Oh, _no_!” he cried, burying his face in his hands. “Oh _gods._ Please _, no!”_

“Are you alright?” I asked, straightening slightly, hand reaching for the wand concealed in my trousers, eyes glancing around the pub for anything out of the ordinary.

Hermione looked equally distressed and reached out a hand to pat Ron gently on the back while Pansy had her pint paused halfway to her mouth, a look of concern on her face. 

Draco was staring at Ron apprehensively, mouth dropped in an “O” of surprise as he quickly averted his gaze, setting his pint down neatly in front of him.

“I mean, I figured there’d be some kind of reaction,” he said quietly, eyes staring hard at his pint in a gesture that I knew was meant to keep his gaze from nervously flitting around the table. 

“But you and Blaise and I have gone out for enough pints I guess I had assumed we were sort of mates by now….”

“No! It’s not that” Ron nearly shouted, standing up on his barstool and leaning towards Draco, arms waving in a non-verbal echo of his words. 

“It’s not that at all, mate, it’s just…” Ron grimaced and I had to laugh, despite the awkwardness of the situation.

I mean, honestly. Did anyone have better facial expressions than Ron? 

“It's just…” he moaned again, face dropping into his hands as a fiery blush took over his entire face. 

“I called you Mr _Dragon_ -Prick!” Ron cried out, raising his head to glare at Draco accusingly. 

“And… and… I was teasing Harry on Saturday,” he continued, head dropping back into his hands. “Argh! I told him I was happy he’d finally found someone hung like a dragon, and he thought it was so goddamned funny, and now I know why, and dammit, Malfoy, you realise that’s not something I ever _wanted_ to know!” 

I couldn’t help the guffaw that tore out of my throat at that.

Neither could anyone else at the table, apparently, given the raucous bout of laughter that rose from our table just then.

“Some of us live up to our names, apparently,” Draco smirked, looking somewhat relieved that Ron wasn’t actually upset as he took a sip of his pint.

“Hey!” Hermione protested, turning to glare at Draco on Ron’s behalf.

“What? It’s a _compliment_ ,” Draco protested. “He’s _not_ a weasel!”

“Can we please get back to the important topic at hand?” Pansy reminded us all, eyes narrowing as she leaned in towards Draco. 

“You’ve been fucking _Harry Potter?!_ ” she screeched, shoving at Draco’s shoulder to emphasise her point. “And you didn’t even think to _tell_ me? Are you fucking _kidding_ me?!” 

To anyone but me, Draco would have appeared nonchalant and completely unaffected. 

I, however, saw the slight tic at his eye as he mentally prepared himself for the grilling he was sure to get from our darling Pansy. 

“Well, I’m certainly happy for the both of you,” Hermione interjected, and I gave her the briefest of glances, wondering if she’d also caught Draco’s reaction. 

“And, I suppose, you’ve a new nickname now, hmm?” she continued, winking at him knowingly. 

“Not new, trust me,” Draco assured her, rolling his eyes.

“Oh, _Merlin,”_ Pansy sighed dramatically as she patted Draco on the back. “The girls in Slytherin were _obsessed_! Always trying to go sneak a peek…”

“None of the _boys_ tried to sneak a peek?” Ron joked, offering Draco his own tiny smirk. 

“None of the boys interested had to,” I replied, grinning as I nudged Draco with my elbow, remembering some fellow students I’d seen him sneaking into his bed who I never would have guessed leant that way. 

Roger Davies, for example, who was either in denial when he’d attended the Yule Ball with Fleur, or just had a penchant for good-looking blonds, regardless of gender. 

“Millicent was the _worst_!” Pansy was saying, giving Draco a sympathetic glance. 

“Honestly, I was frightened she was going to corner you alone or something,” she added, frowning in disgust. 

Draco actually shuddered, and I couldn’t blame the poor bloke.

“Millicent Bulstrode had a crush on you?” Ron asked, looking even more horrified than he had when divulging his accidental nickname for Draco. 

“No wonder you were such a pillock at Hogwarts.”

Draco shuddered again and downed the remainder of his pint.

“Between constantly eluding that monstrosity and my arsehole of father, it’s a wonder I survived adolescence,” he admitted.

“Harry!” Hermione called out just then, and we all turned to watch Harry saunter towards us, giving a little wave as he did so. 

“Hello,” he greeted, pulling up a barstool and sliding it next to Draco’s, leaning in as though to give him a kiss on the cheek, then drawing back uncertainly, glancing at the rest of us.

“Honestly, Potter,” Draco muttered, hand twisting into Harry’s collar and pulling Potter towards him to kiss him soundly on the mouth.

“Not like any of these gits weren’t waiting for it,” he added, smirking as he released Harry, who sat on his stool, licking his lips carefully and eyeing Draco as though he wanted nothing more than for that kiss to continue.

“I’ll get this next round,” Pansy announced, offering Harry one of her rare, brilliant, genuine smiles.

“I do hope you boys realise the round of questioning you’re both in for tonight,” she added before turning on her heel and sauntering off towards the bar. 

Harry looked nervously back at Draco, who merely hooked his shoe around one of the legs of Harry’s stool and drew it closer to him so that he could wrap his arms around Harry from behind. 

Harry sighed and leaned back against Draco’s chest, smiling lazily over at Hermione and Ron, looking, I’ll admit, every bit the pleased kitten who’d lapped up the entire bowl of proverbial cream. 

“And I suppose you two have questions as well?” he asked, quirking a brow at them. 

“Honestly, the two of you kind of make sense to me,” Hermione replied earnestly. “It explains so much about your obsession with Malfoy all throughout Hogwarts.” 

Harry’s gaze hardened as he tried to straighten up, clearly not happy with what Hermione had just revealed.

“I’m sorry, Hermione,” Draco drawled, an absolutely delighted smile lighting up his face as his arms tightened to hold Harry flush against him. 

“What was that you just said?” 

His head dipped down to place a gentle kiss atop Harry’s head, although his eyes and signature smirk informed us all that he was relishing this moment all too well. 

“Erm…” Hermione seemed to have realised her mistake. 

Honestly, the glare Harry was sending at her alone was all the proof I needed that he’d been spending a fair amount of time with Draco. 

If looks could have actually killed, a smouldering, agonising death would have been Hermione’s for sure. 

“Bloody hell,” I giggled, staring at the tableau laid before me.

“Do you mean to tell me these two had crushes on each other at school?!” 

Draco glared at me and I rolled my eyes as an absolutely nasty stinging hex hit me.

“Honestly, Draco,” I groaned. “That’s getting a bit old. Stop hexing me when you’re peeved.” 

“That wasn’t me,” Draco insisted, eyes wide, hands lifting from Harry’s body, palms facing me in the universal sign of innocence. 

Harry, unlike when Draco threw a non-verbal hex at you, had the good manners to at least look sorry about it.

“I thought that one felt a bit different,” I admitted, rubbing at my arms and thighs, still stinging and prickling from the strength of the hex. 

Holy Hecate. 

Potter was bloody powerful, everyone knew that. 

But that hex had been out of this fucking world. 

Potter actually smirked back at me as he settled back into Draco’s arms, and I fully admit to being a bit awestruck at the sight of, perhaps, the world’s most powerful wizard snuggling happily into my best mate’s arms. 

“Harry, Luv, be a dear and go grab those last three pints for me,” Pansy instructed, returning to take her seat and setting a pint before Ron, Hermione, and myself. 

How Pansy had this innate ability to convince any witch or wizard to do her bidding, I’ll never know, but Potter rose immediately and headed towards the bar as commanded.

“Draco.” 

Pansy wasted no time turning to Draco.

“Before I start this vigorous round of questioning, let me just say… the two of you look blissfully happy and I’m not sure I’ve ever even seen something so adorable.”

She glanced behind her to see Harry already returning with the pints and turned back to smile affectionately at Draco as Harry set a pint before her, then Draco, keeping the third for himself. 

Draco made no outward acknowledgement at her proclamation, one arm immediately wrapping back around Harry as the other raised the new pint to his lips. 

“Well,” he sighed resignedly, “Start, then.” 

“I want to know how the bloody hell this even happened,” Pansy started. 

“No,” she barked, almost immediately, holding up a hand as both Draco and Harry opened their mouths to respond.

“I don’t give a fuck about _Grindr_ or sending each other dick pics and arse pics, or whatever,” Pansy assured them both, causing us all to snigger at our various points of downing pints. 

“I want to know how, once you had seen each other, face-to-face, _this_ happened.” 

Harry threw his head back and laughed.

“It started because I decided I wasn’t leaving without a drink,” he admitted, head tilting up and back to gaze at Draco lovingly. 

Holy Hecate. 

The two were in love. 

I don’t even know if either of them had any idea, or had admitted it to each other, but two people did not look at each other like that if they weren’t hopelessly, wonderfully, insanely, stupidly, in love. 

“Felt I really needed one, what, with this prat opening the door,” Harry continued, still gazing affectionately at Draco. 

“Can you imagine?” he demanded, suddenly leaning out of Draco’s grasp, giggling as he looked around at each of us. 

“Knocking on the door to meet your Grindr date, and it's your bloody school nemesis is standing there?” 

“Knowing you were looking for massive cock,” Ron added sniggering, his earlier panic upon realising Draco was Mr Dragon-Prick seemingly forgotten.

Harry only responded by extending his middle finger to Ron as he settled back into Draco’s embrace. 

“So… you got sloshed and decided to have a go?” Hermione asked doubtfully.

Harry and Draco both shook their heads. 

“Not sloshed,” Harry corrected. “But I suppose I was in a certain mood and figured I was already there…” 

Harry trailed off with a shrug. 

“A certain mood?” Pansy repeated with a chuckle. “Is that what we’re calling it these days?” 

“Horny,” Harry snapped, leering in Pansy’s direction. 

“I was horny. I wanted cock, and it just so happens your mate, here, has a bloody fabulous one, so…” 

“Merlin, Harry!” Draco interrupted, hand clapping over Harry’s mouth as the slightest hint of a blush rose in his cheeks. 

“That mouth of yours…” he sighed, rolling his eyes as the rest of us sniggered. 

“… is wonderfully talented, and you love it,” Harry finished for him, ducking away from the playful swat Draco swung at his head. 

Hermione was giggling to herself, gazing fondly at the two men as she shook her head ruefully.

“So, you two decided to ignore seven years of intense school rivalry to hook up because you were horny? Of _course_ , you did.” 

“He attacked me half-naked!” Draco squawked in protest. “What was I supposed to do?!”

“I did not _attack_ you,” Harry retorted.

“Did so,” Draco insisted.

“Right, before this turns into a back-and-forth deserving of two five-year-olds…” Pansy interrupted, as though knowing Harry had been about to retort once again that he “had not.” 

“Let's move on… so you two hooked up that one time… when was that, by the way?” her eyes narrowed suspiciously at Draco. 

“I dunno,” Harry shrugged, seemingly unaware that Pansy was asking for a reason. “Mione, when was it that you told me about Grindr? April? May?” 

“FOUR MONTHS!” Pansy actually smacked Draco’s arm with a real sting behind it. “You’ve been buggering Potter since bloody _April_ and I’m only hearing about this _now_?” 

“It was May. And it was only supposed to be a one-off,” Draco huffed, taking a gulp from his pint. “I certainly wasn’t going to mention anything then. What, am I supposed to tell you about every bloke I pull?”

“Goodness, Draco, no,” Pansy drawled. “Nobody in the world has the time needed for that endeavour.” 

She ignored the bird Draco flipped her and glanced around the table at our nearly empty pints, then up at me pointedly. 

Apparently, it was my turn to buy. 

“Right,” I said, standing, turning to look at Ron. “Give me a hand?” 

“Merlin, I would’ve never guessed Malfoy,” Ron murmured as we headed to the bar.

“It’s not the most obvious combination in the world,” I assured him with a grin. 

I mean, I’d known Draco had a thing for Potter and even I hadn’t been sure until I’d heard Harry’s voice on Draco’s mobile. 

We placed our order with the barman, and I turned to Ron, chuckling. 

“Can you believe he calls him _kitten?_ ” I asked, shaking my head incredulously.

“No!” Ron replied immediately, looking just as flabbergasted as I was. 

“Harry’s bloody well over the moon if he’s allowing that,” he informed me, shaking his head, clearly just as stunned as I was that Draco Malfoy called Harry fucking Potter kitten. 

Apparently often. 

“I’ve a feeling they’re both bloody well over the moon,” I admitted as the barman handed us our pints. 

“Again,” Ron shook his head, grabbing three pints. “I never would have guessed, but it _does_ kind make sense, I suppose.” 

I nodded, following him back to the table.

“Thin line between love and hate, hmm?” 

“Well, what have we missed?” Ron asked, placing his pints on the table and settling back into his seat. 

“Nothing,” Hermione replied, grabbing one of the pints. “I mean, aside from these two being adorable.” 

She grinned across the table to where Harry was still leaning back against Draco, Draco’s head resting atop Harry’s head, his hands settled on Harry’s thighs, deep in conversation with Pansy. 

“Are not,” Draco argued immediately, nevermind the fact that Harry was, even now, tilting his head up and back for a kiss. 

A kiss which Draco, obviously, indulged, and I couldn’t help but chuckle and feel a bit nostalgic for those early days when Anaïs and I had been so madly in love.

Don’t get me wrong.

We were still madly in love, but after six years and two young ones at home, we were decidedly less open with our affection. 

Maybe I’d have to take some steps to change that, I mused, taking a sip of my pint. 

“So, now that Blaise and Ron are back,” Pansy smiled at us, pulling her pint towards her. 

“I still want to know how this adorableness came to be,” she gestured at them. “I get the first fuck, sure. 

“And, my guess is that you two continued, because Harry, Luv, you were in a ‘certain mood,’ and Draco, having that… how did you put it?... That bloody _fabulous_ cock…” she trailed off, taking a sip of her pint. 

“Pansy, _please_!” Ron groaned, making a show of plugging his ears. 

“But when did it become something more?” Pansy asked, ignoring Ron’s pleas.

“Get to the interesting part,” she urged, taking another sip of her pint. 

“I don’t know what information you’re looking for,” Draco frowned. 

For once, I actually believed him. 

“I mean… we fucked once. And then it happened again,” he took a sip of his pint. 

“And then, suddenly, we _were_ fucking, and now we _are_ fucking, and now we’ll _continue_ to fuck until…” he trailed off and grinned down at Harry.

“Merlin, Draco, are you getting paid to say the word fuck?” Hermione asked, rolling her eyes as the two leaned in for another kiss. 

“Yes,” Harry replied without missing a beat. “With blowjobs. From me.” 

He smirked across the table at her as he lifted his glass to his lips.

“Fuck,” Draco picked up immediately, and Ron and I both burst out laughing as he leaned over to nuzzle at Harry’s ear.

“Fuck,” he murmured again, kissing Harry gently on the mouth.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” 

Each expletive was punctuated with another kiss, and I had to roll my eyes.

Draco had never been subtle or one to shy away from public displays, at least where his men were concerned.

“Bloody hell, there might be a chance for the Canons to win the League yet,” Ron interjected gleefully.

“Excuse me?” Harry demanded, turning away from one last uttered expletive and kiss. 

He fixed his mate with his best mock glare and raised an eyebrow indignantly.

“You’re going to have to sit the rest of the season out,” Ron reasoned. 

“The team’s going to think you’ve caught some sort of plague, what, with all those blow jobs you’re going to be giving,” he added. 

Harry, bless him, looked on the verge of spraying his drink all over the table as Draco leaned closer across the table towards Ron.

“You’re welcome,” he said, grinning. “The Cannons win! Victory, by blow job.” 

“And I suppose I’ll just have to get used to you arriving at work just in the nick of time, looking as though you’ve just rolled out of bed,” Hermione chimed in. 

“Happened twice this past week, and that was _before_ Harry was paying Draco to say fuck with blowjobs.”

That crude sentence coming from the mouth of Hermione Granger-Weasley was enough to set the whole table laughing again. 

“Draco? Dishevelled in public?” Pansy sounded sceptical, and I lifted my pint to my lips, already anticipating her reaction to what I was about to share.

“He was even late last week.” 

Pansy’s reaction was priceless.

“Draco. Lucius. Malfoy.” She stated, for the second time that night, jaw dropping, eyes widening, one hand clutching at her necklace in exaggerated surprise. 

“You were _late_? For _work_?!”

She smirked over in Potter’s direction.

“Merlin, Harry, no wonder you're settling debts with that pretty mouth of yours,” she purred. “It must be bloody fantastic. Do a girl a favour and share a few tips sometime, hmm?”

Her gaze slanted back my way, and she grinned slyly. 

“Blaise, Luv, how late was our dear, young Draco?” 

Even though we were only older than Draco by mere months, Pansy enjoyed emphasising our being older, and thus, wiser and worthy of Draco’s respect on account of being his elders. 

Draco, of course, enjoyed telling her exactly where she could shove this opinion. 

I ignored Draco’s pained expression and subsequent eye-roll and set my pint down to glance over at Hermione.

“How many minutes was it?” I asked, pretending to be deep in thought. “No, wait. It was over an hour, wasn’t it?” 

“You two are the absolute _worst_ mates a bloke could ask for,” Draco grumbled, crossing his arms in front of him and actually pouting, bless him. 

“Seriously, Draco?!” I demanded, leaning forward and peering around Potter to look him in the eye. 

“Potter’s two sidekicks literally just took the piss out of him about sitting on the sidelines on account of having his mouth constantly wrapped around your cock! 

“You want me to be the actual worst mate a bloke could have, I can up the ante and absolutely do that!” I threatened, mostly in jest. 

Laughter bubbled up around the table and when I went to take a sip of my pint, I somehow managed to slosh it all down my front. 

Classic. Bloody. Draco.

I flipped him the bird and glared.

“Dry me off, wanker,” I demanded.

Draco smirked, and seconds later my shirt and trousers were clean and dry.

“Do you do that often?” Hermione asked suddenly.

There was an almost imperceptible pause before Draco replied.

“Not really,” he shrugged, not quite meeting Hermione’s gaze.

“That afternoon, when we had lunch,” Hermione’s eyes narrowed. “You made Tristan spill his pint all over himself, didn’t you.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Draco replied, purposely avoiding her gaze, not even trying to sound innocent or contrite. 

“You had lunch with Tristan?” Harry asked, frowning first at Draco then Hermione. 

“Not on purpose, I assure you,” Draco muttered, taking a sip of his pint. 

“We were at St. John’s for lunch,” Hermione explained. “That Saturday when we got called in.” 

“Draco!” Pansy glared at him. “You hexed a Muggle? Do you know how illegal that is? Don’t expect me to come saving your arse when you get summoned to court for hexing Muggles because they managed to pull a bloke you fancy.” 

“Oh, he had no idea,” Draco assured her nonchalantly, as he rolled his eyes. “He’s boring and simple and would never have the imagination to come up with the idea that wizards are real, much less figure out that I’m one of them and that I hexed him.” 

I glanced at Harry, as did everyone else, seeing what his reaction to Draco’s rather callous description of Tristan would be.

Harry snorted as he lowered his pint.

“Right, ‘cause we all know Draco here always pulls for the scintillating morning-after conversation,” he retorted. “Anyway, I only went with him to make Draco jealous.” 

“Well, it worked,” Hermione assured us all, smirking over at Draco. 

“Draco was having trouble concentrating, for some reason,” she informed us all, winking. “Had to take him to lunch because we were getting absolutely _nothing_ done in the office.” 

“Distracting Draco from work, Potter,” Pansy drawled, staring at Potter in mock surprise. “That’s positively unheard of.” 

“Pretty sure I still bear the scars from trying to deter Draco from reading or studying to play Exploding Snap at school,” I agreed, grinning over at Draco. “You’ve thrown a mean Flipendo since First year.”

“And took perverse enjoyment in making sure your intended target flew backwards into a wall or crashed into a table or something painful, you endearing, insufferable, little prat,” Pansy added, smiling fondly at him. 

“Who's to say I don’t _still_ take perverse enjoyment in punishing those who distract me?” Draco asked coolly, raising an eyebrow at Pansy while a most delightful blush rose in Potter’s cheeks, and I turned my attention to him. 

“Potter,” I cooed. “Whatever could be making you blush so prettily?” 

I rested my chin in my palm and gave him my most beguiling smile. 

Ron and Hermione had also noticed and were staring at their friend, one with a decidedly un-Gryffindor smirk, the other with the oddest mixture of mirth and apprehension. 

“Harry, you’re not really trying to distract Draco from his research at home, are you?” Hermione asked incredulously.

Even Granger, it seemed, understood the dangers of distracting Draco from his work. 

The red in Potter’s cheeks flared and he muttered:

“I don’t _try….”_

At the same instant, Draco huffily insisted:

“The research gets done.” 

Ron broke the awkward silence that ensued by bursting out laughing.

“Well, blimey,” he laughed. “I’ve always wanted you to find someone special and bring him round to meet us for pints… would’ve never guessed in a million years it’d be bloody Malfoy, but,” he paused and raised his glass. 

Hermione, Pansy, and I all followed suit.

“I think we can all agree that Mr Dragon-Prick here and you are oddly perfect.” 

“Here! Here!” cried Hermione as we clinked our pints together and toasted our mates.

“Thanks, Ron,” Draco said, eyes meeting Rons with a genuine smile, as Harry, whose blush was so intense that he now resembled a tomato, groaned and buried his face into Draco’s neck, refusing to meet anyone’s gaze. 

“Well,” Draco continued, hand rubbing soothing circles across Harry’s back. 

“I think Kitten here’s revealed enough for one evening,” he drawled, smirking at us all as Harry’s head popped up to stare at him, then all of us incredulously. 

“Better get home so we can rest.” 

“You told them you call me _kitten?”_ Harry hissed, eyes returning to Draco, all but shooting fire. 

“It was on my mobile,” Draco explained cautiously, seeming to realise his misstep. 

“Your flat. _Now_.” Harry managed to grind out, standing, and all but dragging Draco from the pub without another word or glance at any of us. 

Draco allowed himself to be towed out, turning to give us all one last beseeching glance before the pair disappeared out the door. 

“Well,” Pansy gulped, looking at all of us. “It appears our little darlings are about to have their first row.”

“I think we’d all better get home and await the aftermath,” Hermione agreed, and we all stood to leave. 

“Well,” Ron mused as we made our way to the entrance. “I’m still happy for our kitten and your dragon, even if this is going to be a bloody long weekend for us all.” 

And, with that bit of levity to lift our spirits, we parted ways and went home, each awaiting the frantic, angry, distressed texts of SOS from our spirited little duo that were sure to arrive next morning. 


	23. A Second Helping of Breakfast and New Beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry works through his frustration at having been revealed as "Kitten" to their mates followed by breakfast the next morning.

_Friday Evening_

04 _September 2009_

_Draco’s POV_

“I can’t believe you told them that!” Harry yelled, rounding on me, eyes hurling green fire, chest heaving, the lights in my flat flickering dangerously. 

“You calling me kitten is… it’s… well, it isn’t _for_ them,” he accused, fists clenching at his sides, the anger in his eyes slowly fading to hurt. 

“It’s private,” he added, brow furrowing, those impossibly green eyes still staring up at me as I took a cautious step towards Harry, reaching to place my hands hesitantly on his hips.

Luckily, he melted into my embrace, hands sliding up my chest to wrap around my neck, face nuzzling into the crook of my neck as I slid my own hands up and around to trace reassuring circles on his back. 

“Harry, love, I’m sorry. Really, I am… I didn’t mean to,” I explained again. “I accidentally left my mobile on the table… which I shouldn’t have done. Blaise saw when you called.” 

I sighed and pressed a kiss to the top of his head, inhaling the scent of his… well… _my_ shampoo and him as I did so. 

“I just thought it’d be better if you didn’t show up in my mobile as Harry Potter should you send me a naughty text or something,” I admitted, chuckling softly, still holding Harry close to me, hands tracing slower circles and finally settling, one at the small of his back, the other cradling his head, gently massaging the nape of his neck and base of his skull. 

Harry gave a half-hearted “hrmph” as he leaned into the massage, angling his head up to look at me. 

“Well, that certainly backfired,” he quipped, giving me a small smile, and I sighed an inward sigh of relief.

I had no delusions that Harry and I would have this perfect, blissful relationship and knew that there would be rows. 

Many of them. 

Frightening ones. 

Spectacular ones. 

To be honest, I was willing to wager half the Malfoy fortune that the other inhabitants in my building were soon going to be complaining about frequent rolling blackouts. 

And, while inevitable, I really wasn’t looking forward to any of it. 

Except, perhaps, the make-up sex. 

That would also be spectacular, I had no doubt.

But, for now, with our relationship so new, and, if I was being entirely honest, not even fully confirmed, I was hoping to keep that first row at bay for the time being. 

I returned the smile and turned Harry to steer him towards the couch, mentally turning the telly on to an episode of The Office.

I had enjoyed the original version so wasn’t enjoying the US version so far, but Harry insisted it got better after season one, so I indulged.

I urged him to sit sideways on the couch and settled myself behind him, left leg drawing up to settle around the other side of him, nestling him between my thighs as I began to knead the muscles in his shoulders. 

After a few moments, he sighed and leaned back, and I ran my hands down his arms, coming to clasp his hands in his lap, pressing another kiss just above his left ear. 

We sat in silence for a bit, watching as Jim on the telly rallied his co-workers to participate in a hilariously kooky version of, what he called, Office Olympics.

I’d spent enough time in the Muggle world by now to understand what the Olympics were, having been introduced to this paramount of Muggle sport back in 2004 when the bloke I’d been dating had been obsessed with that American swimmer. You know the one. 

He was ok, I guess. 

A bit goofy looking, but, obviously, if you only went from the face down, he was fit, and so, of course, we’d spent most of that summer watching the trials and races with avid enthusiasm.

A bit later, Harry shifted slightly, wriggling himself closer against me, lifting his hips slightly so that my hands brushed against his groin.

It appeared that Harry’s mind was no longer on the silly antics of the show, if the hardness pressing up into my palm was any indication. 

At least I hoped not, I considered, with a slight chuckle, as I bent my head to nuzzle along Harry’s neck, tracing my nose along the shell of his ear. 

“Mmm, I know,” I murmured, still giggling to myself. “Kevin… he’s _so hot.”_

Kevin and Phyllis were currently engaged in a race where each had a case of paper strapped to their feet. 

Harry burst out laughing, turning to glare at me. 

“Shut up,” he snorted, jabbing his elbow up and back into my shoulder playfully. “Way to kill the mood, Malfoy. Good one.” 

“Right,” I rolled my eyes. “Because nothing puts me in the mood more than ‘The Office’.” 

The telly clicked off then and Harry leaned back against me, reaching behind to run a hand through my hair, pulling my head down to nestle in the crook of his neck, and I found myself obliging him with little kisses and nips along the cord running down the side of his neck. 

“Mmm,” he sighed, arching his back so that his arse pressed firmly against my cock, which was quite suddenly very alert and interested. 

“Anything I can do to help you get more in the mood?” he murmured, his other hand clasping over my own to press it more firmly against his hardening length. 

I groaned in response, canting my own hips up to grind against Harry’s arse as I palmed his cock much more eagerly now. 

“Really doesn’t take much where you’re concerned,” I replied, biting his earlobe before sucking at it gently. 

I disentangled my hand from his grasp so I could ease both my hands beneath the hem of his t-shirt, revelling in the bunching and flexing of his muscles as I slid them slowly up his chest, removing the shirt as I went. 

Sure, it was nice to be able to vanish clothing in the blink of an eye, but sometimes it was even more lovely to undress Harry manually, taking the time to run my hands over as much of his body as I was able to in the process. 

His t-shirt out of the way, I returned my hands to trace their path back down to Harry’s waistband, leaning my head back in to meet Harry for a lingering kiss, tongues tangling lazily as I undid the fastening of his trousers, shoving them, along with his pants, down when he lifted his hips to help with the process. 

He continued to kiss me, a groan rising from his throat as he used first his hands, then his feet, to remove his clothing the rest of the way before turning and kneeling before me, hands already working on the buttons of my shirt. 

I leaned forward slightly to wrap my mouth around the head of Harry’s cock, bobbing gently, taunting me, as he undid the first few buttons.

He groaned and pulled back, ignoring my noise of protest, as he sank back to settle himself in my lap, still focusing on slowly releasing each button down the front of my shirt, leaning in to tease at my mouth with sweet, gentle kisses, tongue barely peeking out to lick softly at my top or bottom lip in what had to be the sweetest agony anyone on this fucking planet had ever experienced. 

“ _Harry_ ,” I protested, as he leaned in towards me once more, mouth turning from mine at the last second to tease along the side of my neck as he pushed the shirt from my shoulders, hips rolling to grind his naked body onto my cock, now visibly straining against my trousers. 

With a growl, I lifted him from my lap and spun him around, planting one knee on each side of my lap as though intending to let him straddle me, facing front, but stilled his hips, keeping him from fully sitting and making contact with my prick. 

I leaned forward and placed a slow, open-mouthed kiss at the sensitive nape of his neck, tongue licking before fastening to suck at the bony knob of his spine. 

“Draco,” he whimpered, curling backwards, into me, seeking more contact as I withdrew my mouth from his warm skin, his body then arching outwards, neck and arse thrusting back into me as I latched onto the side of his neck once more. 

I used his body’s momentum to lift his arse up and forwards, gently urging him onto all fours before me, another moan rising from his throat as he arched his back again, pressing against my hands that were now stroking down his cheeks, prising them apart.

“Harry,” I sighed, hands trailing lovingly down the backs of his thighs, then back up to spread him wider as he pressed back into my palms once more. 

I slid my hands forward slightly, hooking my fingers into Harry’s hipbones, pulling him back towards me, one hand continuing to slide up his torso, guiding him back to a kneeling position as I slid myself down to lay beneath him. 

“Draco,” he murmured again, a bit wary now. “What are you doing?” 

Harry realised he was now kneeling, straddling my face, and I was, in all honesty, just as turned on by the blush I could imagine rising in his cheeks as I was by the thought of Harry giving in and grinding that beautiful, perfect arse of his down as my mouth worked him open. 

“Kissing your arse,” I replied, stretching my head up to give a long, slow lick up his crack, groaning myself as Harry unknowingly lowered himself, thighs easing down so they were almost resting on his calves, his delectable arse following my head as I lowered it back to the sofa, turning to lick and give a little nip where the curve of Harry’s arse met thigh. 

“What’d you think I was doing?” I continued, stretching up for another languid lick. 

“Well, obviously, but…” Harry managed, seemingly caught in a struggle between allowing his body to do what it wanted and his silly brain reminding him of just how vulgar and naughty our current positions were. 

“Mmm,” I murmured noncommittally, hands pulling down and back again at the juncture of his hips, urging him to a full sit.

Kitten almost followed along then bucked back upwards, then lowered again, hesitantly, and I couldn't help but chuckle.

“Harry, really,” I sighed, licking into him again, taking care not to call him ‘kitten’ aloud quite yet. 

“I… I… don’t think I can.” 

He was still hovering above me, caught between desire and restraint, and I leaned up to place more kisses along the gentle curve of his arse, hands kneading along his thighs, still urging him to settle upon my face like I wanted.

“Harry,” I chuckled again. 

“Honestly, I'm the one begging you to sit on my face. How are _you_ the one embarrassed about this situation?” 

I leaned up again, licking along Harry’s crack once more, pausing to swirl my tongue and swipe at his opening causing him to keen and lower himself, following my tongue as it retreated. 

“Draco,” he protested again, hips raising as his brain took control once more. 

I didn’t respond, verbally anyway. 

Just leaned back up to lap and swirl at him once more, tongue returning to swirl and lick into his opening repeatedly.

Slowly. 

The way, thanks to this past Sunday, I now knew would drive him insane, gathering as much of his taste on my tongue as I could before swirling into him, relishing in the moans he was releasing above me, gradually growing from quiet, little mewls to lusty sighs that tore from his throat as I continued my relentless attack on his hole, determined to have him ride me in the most obscene way I could imagine.

I smiled to myself as Harry continued to struggle, caught in the midst of the battle between body and mind, body clearly in the lead as his hips continued to lower, then raise just a fraction. 

Two steps down, one step up if you will. 

I’ll admit, it had been hot beyond belief when Harry had thrown me down on my bed that day, telling me exactly how I was going to pleasure him, and now, I suppose, I just wanted him to take that control once more.

I swirled my tongue again, hands still urging him down, and pushed through his tight opening, allowing myself my own lust-filled moan as my tongue slid deep into the welcoming, velvety heat of him. 

“ _Gods_ , Draco,” he sobbed, finally giving in and settling himself above me, hips rolling as my tongue withdrew from his body so that I was licking greedily and sloppily along his entire crack, from the top, along his sweet pucker, over the sensitive patch just beyond, all the way up to his bollocks, before his hips changed direction and I was allowed the entire process in reverse. 

I groaned again, turned on beyond belief, as Harry continued to rock his hips backwards and forwards, pausing every so often to allow my tongue to circle his opening or to slurp sloppily at his bollocks before his body moved again and I could only moan and groan both my pleasure and dissatisfaction as Harry’s movements commanded when and where I could lavish my affection on him. 

My hands were roaming, almost frantically, up and around his body, sliding over the silky smooth skin and muscles working above me, the left finally curling itself around his leaking cock, urging him to continue rocking himself over my probing tongue and into my fist, backwards and forwards, changing the pace, sometimes sliding languidly over me, and other times bucking almost frantically, all the while, our groans growing louder and more guttural as instinct took over reason. 

How one part of my brain was still managing coherent thought, I’ll never know, but I suddenly had the image of what Harry looked like, body moving above me, the rocking of his hips causing his muscled torso to undulate, one hand reaching out in front of him, alternately stroking and clutching at my chest, the other set behind him, hand tangled in my hair, balancing his weight between the two as he continued to glide forward and back.

I groaned again, wishing I could duplicate myself so that I could stand just in front of the telly to watch the scene before me. 

My brain, that one part that could still function, told me to still Harry’s hips, lifting him just slightly. 

He made a choking noise of disappointment as he was forced to disconnect from my greedy mouth, and I couldn’t help but lean up and soothe him with one last, furtive lick before taking a deep breath to get myself a tad more under control.

“Harry,” I managed, turning my head to press kisses along the flesh of his thighs and cheeks. 

“Y-yeah?” came his reply, his hands coming to rest softly on my chest, tracing idle patterns, plucking absently at my nipples, causing me to momentarily forget why the hell I’d stopped everything to talk. 

I’d wanted to watch him.

Right.

I forced myself to concentrate, despite Harry’s roving hands, and a mirror suddenly appeared before the telly, right where I'd wished my double could’ve been standing.

“Harry,” I said again, raising so I could lick at him again. 

“Look to your right.” 

Another lick.

I knew the exact second when Harry noticed the mirror standing there. 

Saw himself, a wrecked mess sat atop my mouth, body and face no doubt flushed, green eyes even brighter than normal with the intensity of his arousal.

He stilled instantly, like a statue, and I couldn’t help the breathy laugh that escaped me. 

“Draco,” he said slowly, body rising slightly, and I clamped one hand around each thigh to coax him back down, right above my mouth, where he bloody belonged. 

“Why is there a mirror stood across from us?” 

“So you can watch,” I replied, giving him a quick lick and lewd suck, lest he get any more ideas about trying to leave. 

“Watch?” he echoed. “Why… why would I want to watch?” 

“Because,” I replied, still licking and kissing him, “I can’t.” 

He stilled above me once more.

“I don’t see how me watching is going to help that,” he replied quietly, all of his adorable, somehow-innocent, uncertainty returning. 

I couldn’t help stretching my head up and turning to allow myself a glimpse of the positively porn-worthy scene reflected before me. 

Curse Circe and all she held sacred, but I almost came on the spot, my cock jerking almost painfully against the confines of my trousers because the reality, where Harry was concerned, was, as usual, so much more than even my rich imagination could have ever fathomed. 

Green eyes locked on mine in the mirror and I managed to get a glimpse of my own eyes, so lust-blown they were almost black, before my attention snapped back up to Harry. 

“You don’t?” I questioned, managing, somehow, to raise an eyebrow and smirk, despite half my face still being hidden by the luscious globes of Harry’s arse. 

He shook his head, eyes blinking shyly away from our reflection in the mirror. 

Oh, no. No. No. No. 

That would not do. 

“Harry,” I chided, pressing a kiss to him again. 

“Mmm,” he mumbled, hips rocking slowly as I began to lick at him again. 

“You need to watch,” I reminded him between licks. 

“I…” he broke off as my tongue breached him once more. 

“Yes, you can,” I encouraged, stabbing back in and relishing in the groan that vibrated through him as I took a few moments to fuck him leisurely with my tongue. 

“Go on, Harry,” I murmured, hands running up and down his thighs reassuringly. 

“I need you to watch for me,” I added, pressing another chaste kiss at the sweet spot between his hole and his bollocks. 

“Then,” I continued, still licking and swirling at him. “You’ll be able to put the memory in your Pensieve.” 

“Draco,” he groaned, body torn once more between desire and reason. 

“And then,” I went on, tongue and mouth working at him more fiercely. 

“One day…” 

I paused as Harry began to move above me once more, body clearly having won out again. 

“One day?” he groaned out, questioning. 

“One day,” I repeated, detaching myself from him momentarily. “You’ll be able to send it to me.” 

I sighed and petted his thighs once more, lost in a sudden daydream of me opening a text from Harry and having it be this memory.

Of him watching himself, knowing it would be for him to send to me, whenever he wanted.

Merlin, I was going to be a helpless, horny wreck whenever he did send it. 

“Send it to you?”

He didn’t seem to be following my train of thought.

“When?”

“Whenever you see fit,” I replied, licking at him still. 

“I… I don’t know, Draco,” he murmured.

I opened my eyes and looked up to catch him turning his head away from the mirror once more and I closed my eyes so that I could concentrate again.

“Nghh! Draco!” he cried out next moment, anguished, and I couldn’t help but smirk as I lightly traced around his pucker, giving a dainty swipe round the middle of it, as I pictured Harry gazing at the second mirror I’d placed at the end of the sofa, in front of him, making it all but impossible not to watch himself now. 

“Don’t you _dare_ shut your eyes,” I warned, mouth latching onto him as he battled between behaving like a wanton harlot and a shy schoolboy once more. 

“I want you to look at yourself,” I told him, mouth and tongue still working at him, and I smirked at his whimper of protest. 

“Look at yourself the way I would see you,” I instructed, reaching my hand around to wrap around his cock once more and Harry moaned quietly above me, hips beginning to rock as he gave in to his body one more time. 

“At the way your body moves,” I murmured, tongue still lapping and swirling. 

“How your back arches,” I continued, still working, drinking in the groans from Harry as he, presumably, followed my instructions. 

“And the way your hips roll,” I groaned, “and that incredible arse of yours… sliding back and forth…” 

“ _Draco…”_

Again, I could pinpoint the exact moment Harry gave in completely, hips twisting and grinding down into me as I pushed up and into him with my tongue, hand working his prick in tandem with his hips, now rocking a fraction more desperately, hands returning, one settling on my chest, the other reaching behind him to tangle in my hair again. 

“The way you throw your head back...” 

I couldn’t stop, it seemed, and neither could he.

“Like you’re in absolute ecstasy.”

Harry groaned again, hips circling as my tongue swirled and drove inside of him. 

“I _am_.” It was hardly more than a whisper but full of such wanton desire I couldn’t help but groan and wrap both arms around his thighs to pull him even closer to me. 

“ _Fuck_ , Draco, do you even know what you do to me…” 

Both of Harry’s hands left me to do gods know what while I continued to fuck his hole with my tongue, Harry, having now thrown all caution to the wind, circling, and rolling, and grinding his hips onto my eager mouth. 

I was barely conscious of my hands roaming Harry’s body, first kneading and squeezing his luscious arse as I groaned into him, then smoothing up his torso to tweak at his nipples, groaning again as one of his hands twined with mine to twist and tease at the hardening nub. 

I could hardly hear his quiet moans of “ _mmm,”_ and _“Draco,”_ and “ _please_ ,” and “ _gods,”_ over my own groans as my hands continued their journey back down his torso, delighting in the feel of his muscled abdomen as they slid their way around his waist and began to smooth their way up his back. 

All the while, my mouth kept working at Harry, tongue furling deep into Harry’s tight, slick channel, withdrawing occasionally to swirl and suck and lick before returning to drive back into him. 

Above me, Harry’s groans grew louder, hips circling and grinding more quickly, and I reached my left hand around to curl around his cock once more while my right stretched up to twirl and grasp into the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling Harry to arch back at an almost unimaginable angle as my tongue worked itself in and out of the satiny, slick heat of him with renewed fervour.

Harry let out a wall-shattering cry, hips working frantically to pump his cock in and out of my fist, dragging himself over my desperately seeking mouth, slurping and lapping at his hole, his taint, his bollocks, whatever I could reach as he approached his climax. 

As soon as I felt his body stiffen above me, I shoved his right leg up and rolled out from beneath him, scrambling to wrap my mouth around his spasming prick, swallowing greedily as Harry’s cock continued to spurt until I’d sucked down every last drop.

Harry rose up onto his elbows to stare down at me in amazement as I released him gently, moving to lap up the stray ropes of cum that he’d released before I’d managed to suck his length down my throat dotting his torso with long, languid strokes of my tongue. 

Normally, I was nothing near resembling a cum-slut, but, as usual, wherever Harry was concerned, I found myself decidedly pushing extremes. 

“Mmm,” Harry murmured as I cast a quick cleansing charm that cleaned both Harry and me from head to toe. 

“Do I get to take care of you, now?” he asked, smiling lazily down at me as he stretched languidly, my trousers vanishing, Harry apparently eager to return the favour. 

I averted my gaze from him as I slid my way up his body, arranging ourselves so that we were laying, facing each other, legs entwining, arms holding each other close, lips meeting for a sweet, lingering kiss.

“Erm…” I paused, eyes glancing down to meet his, actually a tad embarrassed, for once in my life. 

“I’m… good,” I admitted, glancing back down to where his hand was tracing lazy patterns across my chest. 

Harry clasped my hand and brought it up to place a kiss on my palm, and I allowed my gaze to flicker up to his emerald eyes, sparkling with a hint of laughter. 

“My boyfriend gets off just from eating my arse?” he asked, a smile lighting up his face as he leaned in to rub his nose against my own. 

“How on earth did I get so lucky?” 

I snorted and began to roll my eyes, a snarky comment on my lips when I realised what he’d just said.

“You called me your boyfriend,” I stated, pulling back to look him in the eye once more.

Now it was Harry’s turn to blink away shyly, and I tilted his chin back up to look at me.

“I like the sound of that,” I told him honestly, leaning in to kiss him softly on the mouth.

“Me, too,” he replied, a tiny smile curving at the corners of his mouth. 

“Mmm… now I really am _your_ Harry,” he murmured as he snuggled closer alongside me, head fitting perfectly into the crook of my neck and I couldn’t help but smile as I inhaled the scent of Harry’s hair as I wrapped my arms more tightly around him.

My Harry, indeed. 

I yawned and accioed some blankets, casting my cooling charm around myself as I pulled the thick comforter around us, wrapping my arms around _my_ Harry once more and welcoming sleep after a long day. 

***

I awoke next morning, stretching languidly, my thoughts returning to the last thing Harry had said to me before we drifted off to sleep. 

My Harry, I thought, smiling happily as I felt him stirring beside me. 

I yawned again and turned to look down at him, arms reaching to clasp him closer to me for a proper morning cuddle.

However, all those sweet, sappy thoughts flew from my brain as I took in the scene before me. 

Harry was not, as I’d presumed, shifting around in his sleep. 

His eyes were closed, yes, but he was biting his lip in an effort to quiet the moans that threatened to escape his mouth due to the ministrations that his left hand was delivering. 

I could see that it was reaching around behind him, working slowly back and forth, I could only imagine, in and out of his tight, pink pucker. 

“Something I might help you out with, Potter?” I asked hopefully. 

He groaned and green eyes snapped open to meet my own, somewhat sheepishly.

“I wanted to surprise you,” his sleep-laden morning voice murmured softly, that hand still working steadily. 

“Mission accomplished,” I assured him, right hand reaching up to card through his silky raven-coloured mop. 

“I’m quite surprised,” I added, leaning down to kiss him softly. 

“No,” he sighed, shaking his head slowly, pulling away to look me in the eye, an evil smirk tugging at his lips. 

“I wanted to surprise you by being _on_ you,” he clarified, glaring at me, as though my having woke up and ruining his surprise were my fault.

“Wanted you to wake up _inside_ me,” he added, just in case I hadn’t been clear on his previous meaning. 

“Well, don’t let my being awake stop you,” I encouraged, shifting us so that Harry was now laying atop me, pulling him down for a kiss.

“I can even pretend to be asleep,” I added, closing my eyes and feigning sleep the best I could. 

“See?” I added, even though I couldn’t shake the grin or little giggle that escaped my lips. 

Harry chuckled as he moved so that he was straddling me properly, leaning back in for another kiss. 

Said kiss, of course, escalated in no time, and next thing I knew, Harry was grasping my cock and guiding it into his slackened hole. 

I groaned and propped myself up on my elbows as I felt the tip of my cock sliding into the smooth, velvety heat of him, head dropping back, allowing Harry access to nibble, lick, and suck at my neck. 

“Harry,” I sighed, hips rocking up in an effort to slide more of my length into his ridiculously tight heat. 

“How the fuck are you so tight?” I demanded, not for the first time, and he chuckled, green eyes slanting down at me as he leaned down to kiss me again, his arse continuing its slide down to engulf more of my prick. 

He gave a moan of his own as he bottomed out, arse coming to rest on my groin, and his eyes fluttered open to peer down at me sheepishly.

“It’s always that last couple of centimetres,” he sighed. “They’re so _fucking good.”_

I just nodded, nevermind that, in my opinion, all of Harry felt so _fucking good_ , and rocked my hips up into him, urging him to get on with this surprise morning shag he’d envisioned. 

Harry didn’t disappoint, either, as he slowly rose up my length, squeezing deliciously as did so, stopping when just the tip was still inside of him, before sighing and sliding back down, centimetre by agonising centimetre. 

“Harry,” I groaned, hands flying to his hips in an effort to encourage him to quicken his pace, but no such luck for me.

Harry kept rising and falling, lazily, up and down my entire length, as though he had all Merlin-fucking day to ride my cock. 

“Harry,” I tried again, hands tangling in his hair once more to pull his face down to mine, capturing his mouth with my own. 

Kissing always seemed to bring my sweet Harry right up to that edge so nicely. 

Harry, as predicted, latched on, groaning into my mouth as he began to work himself up and down my length much more quickly now. 

“ _Gods_ , Draco,” he gasped, tearing his mouth from mine as he rose up and began to ride my cock in earnest. 

He was sliding up and down my entire length now, my own hips rising to meet his as our bodies worked in tandem to bring us both to the point where we were nothing but moaning, sobbing messes, hands and lips seeking blindly to kiss and clasp and hold on to whatever parts of each other we could reach. 

We continued, hips snapping together in a frantic rhythm, the sound of skin meeting skin echoing throughout the room and I knew release wasn’t far off for either of us. 

I groaned again, head falling back once more, as Harry gave a particularly wicked twist of his hips that had me seeing stars, and my hands found their favourite spots, one resting on the small of his back, urging his hips to continue grinding down into my own, the other cradling his head and guiding his mouth back to mine, anticipating another frantic kiss. 

“Oh! _Fuck_!” Harry cried suddenly, body halting then curling suddenly into mine.

At that same moment, I heard a gasp that I would have recognised at any point, at any time, in any place in this entire bloody world, and my cock literally withered and slipped from Harry’s body almost immediately. 

“ _Mum_?” I asked, not even having to look as I sat up, setting Harry beside me on the couch, giving him a look that dared him to even try an Apparate away right now. 

Thankfully, Mum had her back towards us, probably having turned as soon as she’d Apparated into my flat and glimpsed the scene before her. 

I sighed and wrapped the blanket more tightly around Harry and I, just in case, I don’t know, Mum decided to turn around or something. 

“My apologies, Draco,” she was saying, her voice giving absolutely no indication that she’d just walked in on her only son being ridden by Harry Bloody Potter as though Voldemort’s defeat had depended on it. 

“I hadn’t realised we had a change of plans this morning.” 

Fuck. 

“Fuck,” I muttered aloud. “It’s the first Saturday, isn’t it?” 

Mum and I always had breakfast the first Saturday of each month. 

She’d been spending most of her time in France but came to England each month for whatever business she had to attend to, including time for us to catch up face-to-face.

And I, caught up in the whirlwind of a hectic work schedule and the bliss of all things Harry, had completely forgotten that today was our day. 

“Don’t worry, darling,” she assured me, head tilting downwards as she pulled smartly on her gloves to ensure they were on properly. 

“We can reschedule for another time.” 

I’m sure I’m the only person in the entire world who could’ve caught the disappointment in her voice and actions. 

“No,” I sighed, running a hand through my hair. 

I knew how much Mum looked forward to our breakfasts together.

And, to be entirely honest, so did I.

I loved my mum. 

“Just… give me a minute,” I added, standing and pulling on my trousers. 

Both Harry and my mum gave a snigger at that.

“Darling, it would appear that both Harry and I know it will take you much longer than that to get ready.” 

I glared at both of them, despite the fact that it was true and that only one of them could actually see my glare. 

“Harry, dear,” Mum was saying. “It’s lovely to see you again. I hope you’re well?” 

Harry’s face reddened immediately as he tightened the blanket around him.

“Erm… yes… same to you Mrs Mal… erm… Miss Bla… Nar…” Harry glanced up at me helplessly. 

“Call me Narcissa, please,” Mum instructed, and I could hear the smile in her voice.

“I insist.” 

Another brief pause as Harry stumbled to his feet, all but tripping on the blanket, then into his own trousers.

“I’m going to go make myself a cup of tea,” Mum informed us, turning towards the kitchen, still keeping her back turned. 

“Harry, if you’re not back out here to meet me in ten minutes, I will come and find you two,” she added, pausing in the doorway of my kitchen, one hand reaching up to lay gently against the doorframe, almost as though she might turn around to fix us with that dreaded “Mum” stare. 

“You will be joining us, I assume?” 

It wasn’t a question, which Harry caught on to quickly enough. 

“Erm… yes, Mrs… I mean, Narcissa, of course,” he mumbled as I whisked him down the hallway to my bedroom, not wanting to waste any time. 

“Draco!” he hissed as soon as we entered my closet. “Your _mum_!” 

He groaned and buried his face into the crook of my neck. 

“I’m never going to be able to look her in the eye,” he informed me and I tilted his head up to brush his lips with my own. 

I’d only intended to distract Harry for a moment, but the kiss inevitably deepened, and soon we were pressed up against each other, hands roaming, tongues tangling as I angled Harry towards the island of drawers in the centre of my closet, urging him to sit on it, wrapping his legs around me, grinding my hardening cock down against his own. 

“Shit, Draco,” he yelped suddenly, pushing me away and glaring at me accusingly. "Ten minutes!"

“Sorry,” I replied, releasing him immediately, shucking my trousers and pulling on a clean pair of pants before striding over to select a pair of trousers. 

“Erm…” 

I turned to see Harry eyeing me warily. 

“I… do you… might I borrow a pair of pants,” he asked finally, eyes darting away from mine. 

“I’m sorry,” he added almost immediately, eyes flitting back up to meet my own. “Is that weird?”

I couldn’t help but roll my eyes as I pulled on a fresh pair of trousers and walked back over to Harry. 

“Yes, Potter, very weird,” I drawled, pulling a drawer open and smirking down at him. 

“I’m fine with literally kissing your arse and swallowing your cum, but borrowing a pair of pants? That’s where I draw the fucking line.” 

I threw a pair of shorts in his face and he rolled his eyes back at me as he removed his trousers and pulled the shorts on. 

“Where are we going, anyway?” he asked, shoving his arms through the armholes in his t-shirt then pulling his trousers back on. 

“I doubt I’ll be properly dressed in this, regardless,” he added, pulling at the hem of his shirt and staring down at it critically. 

I frowned and looked him over, realising he was probably right. 

“Claridges, probably,” I mused. “They don’t have a dress code, I don’t think.” 

Harry raised an eyebrow at me doubtfully. 

“Here, put this on,” I instructed, throwing a black jumper at him. 

Harry, I’d noticed, ran a little cold, so he’d likely need the extra layer this time of year, anyway. 

“Are you sure?” he asked, putting on the jumper as instructed, but still glancing at me uncertainly.

“Yes, my persnickety little Kitten,” I assured him, closing the distance between us and leaning down to kiss the tip of his nose. 

Merlin, what the fuck was happening to me? 

Since when did I kiss blokes on the tip of the nose?

“You look absolutely ravishing,” I continued, fixing the length of the jumper and its arms with my wand. 

Harry rolled his eyes, clearly not believing me, which I chose to ignore. 

“And if my mum weren’t waiting for you in the kitchen, I’d definitely take the time to prove it to you,” I added, letting my gaze wander down his body, taking in the way his trousers hugged his thighs perfectly. 

“Thanks,” he said, smiling gratefully, tilting my head back up to meet his gaze and giving me a pointed look. 

“Well, I should probably go see your mum,” he added. “I’m sure it’s been at least ten minutes.” 

I grabbed his hand as he brushed past me, pulling him towards me for one last, brief kiss. 

“Thank you,” I told him, knowing Harry needed no further explanation. 

“Course,” he replied, eyes lingering on me for a moment before he turned and headed out the door. 

I dressed in record time, deciding to leave my hair naturally tousled, the way Harry seemed to like.

And, as Hermione had pointed out, with Harry becoming a more permanent fixture in my life, also seemed destined to become my new signature style. 

Might as well see what Mum thought of it, I supposed. 

I hurried down the hallway towards the kitchen, knowing being alone with Mum after that unexpected introduction was probably wreaking havoc on poor Harry’s nerves right now.

I entered the kitchen to find that I shouldn’t have worried. 

Harry was leaning casually against one of the counters, nibbling on a stroopwafel (without moaning like the giant caramel-slut that he was, it should be noted) whilst Mum stood near the counter adjacent, holding her cup of tea, a genuine laugh bubbling up out of her throat as Harry wrapped up some anecdote. 

“Draco,” Mum greeted me, eyes sparkling with laughter, holding out an arm to pull me in for a hug, head tilting up to kiss my cheek. 

“Harry was just telling me the latest about little Teddy,” she informed me. 

Of course.

How had I forgotten that Harry and I were both practically uncles to Teddy? 

I'd known Harry was his godfather, and, in recent years, Mum and Aunt Andromeda had reconciled, which, of course, meant that the two of us had become fixtures in young Teddy's life.

Aunt Andromeda, however, had taken care to keep these two branches of Teddy's life separate, for his sake, most likely. 

“He’s just finished his first week at Hogwarts,” Mum sighed and looked at me in that fond, nostalgic-Mum-sort-of-way, and I couldn’t help but roll my eyes and glance over at Harry.

“She’s remembering when we were that age,” I informed him. 

“You were so young,” Mum protested, still holding me close with one arm, raising her teacup to take a sip with the other. “And so sweet, and positively adorable.” 

Harry sniggered, and I shifted away from Mum with another exaggerated eye roll.

“Mum, I was an insufferable, annoying prat,” I reminded her, earning another snigger from Harry. 

“What was that, Potter?” I snarled, slipping into a perfect mirror of my younger, dreadful self. 

My actions belied my words and tone as I stepped towards Harry, pulling him towards me for a bear hug. 

“Have something you wanted to say?” I continued, still in character, dropping a kiss atop his head. 

“Argh, get off,” Harry griped, pretending to shove me away. “You were bloody _awful_ then.” 

“Course I was,” I conceded, bending down to sneak a bite of Harry’s stroopwafel. 

“That’s when I still wanted to grow up and be like my father,” I added, ignoring Harry’s glare as he jerked the remainder of his treat well out of my reach. 

“Thankfully, for the both of you, Draco cast that laughable ambition aside soon enough,” Mum interjected from across the room. 

“Well,” she said brightly, smiling at us as she set her cup on the counter. “Shall we?” 

“Claridges?” I asked.

“Mmm,” she nodded. “It is your favourite.” 

“Are you sure I’m dressed alright?” Harry asked again, frowning as he took in Mum’s sky-blue pencil skirt and matching jacket and my light grey suit. 

“Yes, Harry, dear,” Mum assured him, eyes giving him a quick once-over. 

“You look wonderful. And I would certainly tell you if I thought otherwise,” she assured him. 

Harry gifted her with an absolutely radiant smile and looked somewhat mollified by her response.

“Oh, I see how it is, Potter,” I grumbled good-naturedly. “Mum tells you that you look wonderful and she gets this radiant beam. _I_ tell you that you look wonderful and all I get is a cheeky eye-roll.” 

Harry merely stuck his tongue out at me as Mum placed a hand on both of our backs, guiding us towards the door and on our way to breakfast. 

Claridges was only a short walk, and the weather was perfect for a short, early Autumn stroll. 

Harry and Mum talked most of the way, the tale of little Teddy Lupin’s first week at Hogwarts not having been exhausted yet. 

Unsurprisingly, being a Metamorphmagus and showing up for classes with a different hair colour or altered nose each day made one quite popular during one’s first week. 

Once we’d arrived at Claridge’s, we were shown to our table in the Foyer, one of those at the centre of the room with its dark blue circular booth, and I couldn’t help but watch as Harry gazed around him taking in the tall, arched windows and the ornate glass sculpture that hung from the ceiling in lieu of an actual chandelier. 

Mum ordered a magnum of Billecart-Salmon Rosé then turned her attention back to Harry and me. 

“So, Harry, dear,” she smiled at him, resting her chin on her clasped hands and leaning towards him. “What have you been up to since we last met? And I don’t mean all that drivel they insist on printing in the Prophet, mind.” 

The Prophet enjoyed running a story at least every other week about their suspicions of Harry dating some witch or other, hoping to be the first to divulge The Boy Wonder’s newest relationship to his adoring public.

If only they knew. 

“Erm… honestly, not much,” Harry admitted, rubbing at the back of his neck and grinning at her sheepishly. “I’m afraid the Prophet version of Harry leads a much more exciting life than I do.” 

“Does he?” Mum countered, raising an eyebrow. “The scene I walked in on this morning positively begs otherwise.” 

Harry flushed immediately, mouth working as though trying to respond but no sound came out, and Kitten, adorably, looked over at me, eyes pleading, as though I might help. 

“And now you know where I get it from,” I quipped, smirking at him from across the table. 

“I’m sorry, dear,” Mum apologised, looking genuinely contrite as she reached out to pat Harry’s hand affectionately. “I couldn’t resist.” 

“And, if it’s any consolation, that was nothing compared to some of the things I’ve seen from this one over the years,” she added, fixing me with that sort of pointed stare that only Mum’s seem to be able to do. 

“That was mostly for Father’s benefit,” I reminded her huffily. “You were never supposed to see the half of it.” 

I… might have gone out of my way to engage in absolutely obscene frolics in the few years after the trial when Father was confined to house arrest at the manor, wandless and all but helpless to stop my antics. 

Mum didn’t deign my little outburst with a response. 

Just turned her head back to Harry with a pointed raise of her brow. 

“I… I don’t even want to know,” Harry admitted truthfully, with a rueful shake of his head.

“I could show you sometime,” I offered helpfully, earning a glare from both Harry and Mum. 

“Good morning.” 

I was saved from any further admonition by the arrival of our server bearing the bottle of champagne. 

“Shall I take your order for breakfast?” he asked, pouring us each a glass and leaving the bottle in the bucket of ice sat next to our table. 

“I’m so sorry,” Mum apologised, looking up at him with a sincere wince of dismay.

“I’m afraid we’ve been so engrossed in catching up we haven’t even looked at our menus.” 

“Not to worry, madam,” he assured us, with a slight nod of his head. “Take your time and I’ll take your order once you’ve decided.” 

I didn’t have any need to look at my menu, seeing as I always got the same thing at Claridges. 

The Chinese breakfast. 

I don’t know why but there was something so comforting yet decadent about the steaming bowl of congee porridge with its preserved duck egg and accompanying pickles and dumplings. 

Mum would either order the European with its selection of cured meats and cheeses served with a proper baguette or the Omelette Arnold Bennet with Scottish haddock and Mornay sauce if she was feeling decadent. 

The time to peruse the menu was only asked for Harry’s benefit, which, if you remember, would only serve to push dear Kitten into panic mode. 

I glanced over at Harry, taking a sip of champagne as I watched his eyes begin scanning the extensive menu at an almost comically fast rate, as though there was a correlation between how quickly his ideal breakfast would pop out at him and how quickly he read the menu.

“Harry,” I said, setting my glass down and leaning across the table to pluck the menu from his hands.

“Erm… yeah?” 

“What do you want to eat?” I asked.

“Erm…”

I paused and rethought my question for a second.

“Don’t think about the menu or anything that’s on it,” I amended. “Just think about what you’d eat if you could have whatever it is that you want.” 

Mum was glancing between Harry and me curiously.

“He’s like Blaise,” I informed her, not taking my eyes off of Harry as he thought. 

“Ah,” she replied, nodding and lifting her own champagne glass to her lips.

“Sorry,” Harry apologised, giving Mum a sheepish grin. 

“Nothing to apologise for, dear,” she assured him. “That’s the fun in dining out. You can have whatever it is you want… within reason, of course.” 

“I suppose what I’d really want is avocado. And salmon.” 

“Just avocado and salmon?” I asked.

He shook his head.

“No. With eggs. And toast or something,” he paused to take a sip of his champagne. “And Hollandaise.” 

“Well, then you’ll want the Eggs Royale with a side of avocado,” Mum decided, eyes glancing down at her own menu. 

“That’s not on the menu, though,” Harry frowned. "Is it?" 

“Of course it is dear,” Mum countered, showing him her menu, seeing as his was still grasped firmly in my hands. 

“Potter,” I interrupted, grinning at just how bloody adorable Harry was sometimes. “Think of it like this.” 

Green eyes met mine expectantly across the table. 

“If you had a few mates over for dinner, Ron and Hermione, let’s say…” 

Harry nodded to show that he was following.

“And… whatever it was that you’d made, no matter, but Hermione said ‘Wow, do you know what would go great with this? Some avocado!” 

Harry giggled at my exaggerated impression of Hermione pondering her meal. 

“And, you just so happened to have some avocado in your kitchen… wouldn’t you slice her up some avocado?” 

“Not if it were my last avocado,” he answered truthfully, and Mum and I both had to laugh at his honestly. 

“Let’s assume you have many,” I amended, and Harry grinned. 

“Of course.” 

“Ok, then,” I concluded. “You want the Eggs Royale with a side of avocado. Because I’m quite sure Claridges has many avocados on hand.” 

Mum, who had been smiling at us fondly, averted her gaze to seek out our server, who arrived to take our orders momentarily. 

Conversation and champagne continued as we waited, and I leaned back, allowing myself to take in our surroundings.

Merlin help me, but of _course,_ there was an adorable baby seated at the table near us staring at me, a silly, little baby grin on its face, and I couldn’t help myself. 

I’ve always loved babies, and, it would seem, they loved me, too. 

I made eye contact with the little lump of adorable and returned its silly, little baby grin, eliciting an excited coo from my new friend. 

Oh, was I done for now. 

I raised my eyebrows and opened my mouth in an expression of feigned baby surprise, to which my companion responded in kind, mimicking my facial expressions before collapsing into a fit of giggles. 

Harry and Mum had, obviously caught on to my antics at this point, and had begun to look around the restaurant, as one does when one’s adult companions begin making baby faces at some random point in the room. 

Baby’s mum had also noticed, and so all of our eyes met as baby let out another squeal of delight.

By this time, I’d brought my hands up to cover my eyes and had just revealed myself, thus commencing an absolutely riveting game of peek-a-boo, which lasted for several rounds, baby alternately staring intently at the hands hiding my face, wondering where I’d disappeared to, then giggling and babbling in delight when I revealed that I was still there. 

Baby’s mum was cooing along in delight whilst Harry and Mum watched our interaction with delight. 

“Draco adores babies,” Mum informed Harry, as though that weren’t bloody obvious. 

“Well spotted, Mum,” I retorted, tearing my eyes from my charming new buddy, and giving my attention to my actual dining companions once more. 

Harry was grinning at me, those impossibly green eyes sparkling with laughter and something else that told me he’d quite enjoyed learning that I turn into an absolute Hufflepuff around babies. 

“He was an adorable baby,” Mum was leaning towards Harry consiprationally. 

“Was he, now?” Harry replied, finishing off his glass of champagne and reaching for the bottle beside him. 

“I’m not sure, Narcissa,” he continued, winking at me, and I felt my panic rising as Harry refilled all of our glasses before returning the bottle to its bucket. 

“I might need visual proof.” 

No. 

This was not happening.

Harry had not just asked my Mum to see baby photos. 

Because, of course, you well know that she had them. 

Scores of them. 

And now, thanks to the Wizarding world having adopted the wonderful muggle mobile contraptions, she had them all right here, to show off to anyone, at any time, anywhere. 

“Oh!” Mum caught on immediately, of course. “Would you like to see some of Draco’s baby photos?” 

“No, Mum,” I snapped immediately, glaring one of my finest, real, no-fucking-around glares at Harry. 

“He would not.” 

Harry either didn’t catch on to the severity of my glare or didn’t care, although, seeing as he’d faced Voldemort head-on at seventeen, my bet was on the latter. 

“I have some on my mobile, of course,” Mum continued as though I hadn’t spoken, and Harry scooted his chair closer to her and leaned in to get a better look.

“I swear to Merlin, Potter,” I growled. “You look at those photos and you’ll be sleeping alone for a month.” 

I just about murdered Harry when he merely glanced over at me, one brow raised. 

“Oh, come, now Draco,” he countered, a positively evil smirk spreading across his face. “We both know that’s not true.” 

Bastard.

Nearly sorted into Slytherin, indeed.

I humphed and crossed my arms, pouting, making sure that Potter knew just how much trouble he was about to get himself into and continued to glower across the table at both him and Mum.

Mum, for some reason, was so pleased with this interaction that she couldn’t suppress her smile as she turned to Harry, mobile in hand. 

I knew exactly which photo she was going to show him, too. 

It was her favourite. 

I must have been about two at the time, the photo showing, at first, what seemed to be the library at the manor, empty save for the floor-to-ceiling shelves of books and comfortable furniture set up for reading the afternoon away. 

Then, from behind an overstuffed leather couch, a tuft of silvery-blond hair appeared, slowly rising until a teeny forehead was visible, and finally, a pair of peeping blue-grey eyes that popped open in surprise as my entire face jolted up above the arm of the couch, squealing with glee, before ducking back down. 

A few seconds later and the same tuft of blond hair, then my giggling face, would appear around the side of the couch, peering to see if the person taking the photo (presumably Mum) were still there.

This sickening display of cute along with the complete lack of physical awareness all toddlers demonstrate (if I can’t see you, you can’t see me, right?) continued on endless repeat, and I could hear my squeal of delight echoing from Mum’s mobile every fifteen seconds or so. 

“Oh. My. Sweet. Merlin.” Potter was gasping, hands reaching to take the mobile from Mum so he could examine the scene playing before him. 

Green eyes glittered over at me as Potter grinned across the table at me.

“Adorable isn’t even the right word,” he informed both Mum and I, glancing from me to her. “I don’t know what is, but this is _beyond_ adorable.” 

The server, merciful Merlin, arrived then with our plates then, and I couldn’t wait to delve into my savoury bowl of congee, and not only because I was starving. 

Harry was staring down at his plate, a small satisfied smile appearing on his face as he took in the decadent spread of perfectly poached egg atop luscious slices of salmon, all topped with shavings of truffle and Hollandaise with a generous side of sliced avocado on the side. 

Mum was also watching as he cut into his eggs and lifted the first bite to his mouth, a little sigh of bliss slipping out between his lips as his eyes slid shut. 

“This is exactly what I wanted,” he informed us both, the satisfied smile still in place as he sliced himself a bite of avocado, swirling it in the egg yolk before lifting the forkful to his mouth. 

Mum was taking a neat bite from a slice of baguette that she’d layered with cheese and charcuterie and I tore my eyes away from the mouth-watering sight of Harry enjoying his breakfast to take a bite from one of the gyoza that accompanied my meal. 

“If you’d like, Harry,” Mum was saying, taking another sip of champagne. “I could send you that photo.” 

I nearly dropped the second half of my gyoza as I turned to stare at Mum in absolute horror.

“You wouldn’t,” I gasped. 

“Of course I would,” she replied, taking another bite of cheese and charcuterie laden baguette. 

“Absolutely,” Harry said whole-heartedly. 

“Here’s my number,” he added, taking up her mobile and punching in his number. 

What an absolute prat.

“And I have other photos,” Mum assured him, the two of them seeming to have come to a tacit agreement to ignore my squawks of protest. 

“Yes, please.” 

Mum and Harry’s heads bent together, food seemingly forgotten, as she scrolled through the photos stored on her mobile, looking for another favourite to show Harry. 

“You just wait until I meet your idiot Muggle family and get my hands on _your_ baby photos, Potter,” I snarled, turning my attention to my congee. 

“Draco!” Mum looked horrified, thinking I’d just called Harry’s family idiots on account of them being Muggles as opposed to them just being actual idiots.

At the same time, Harry laughed outright.

“You think there are baby photos of me?” 

He glanced down at Mum’s mobile and his jaw dropped as he clapped a hand to his mouth, eyes slanting over to me with a look of positive adoration. 

“No,” I groaned. “Mum, what are you showing him now?” 

“Baby Draco on a broom?” Potter all but squealed, head tilting back to laugh, before returning his attention to the photo in question. 

Of course, I knew exactly what photo he was looking at. 

Again, I couldn’t have been more than two or three, sitting astride my very first broomstick. 

You know, the toddler ones they sell in Diagon Alley that barely hover fifteen centimetres above the ground so you can’t hurt yourself when you inevitably tumble off to one side. 

In the photo, I’m “zooming” around outside in the rose garden, being chased by my father, apparently before he’d morphed into an uptight, pompous fuckwad. 

I could hear him crying out:

“Draco! I can’t _possibly_ keep up! You’re just _too fast!_ ” before another squeal as I reached the arbitrary finish line.

“Excellent job, Draco!” Father exclaimed. “You won again!”

“Mummy! Mummy!” toddler me cried out gleefully at the end of the clip. “I win!” 

Harry looked as though it were his birthday and Christmas combined as he looked at Mum with a giant grin on his face.

“This is the most wonderful thing I’ve ever seen in my life,” he declared. 

“I thought you’d like that one, seeing as you’re a professional Quidditch player,” Mum agreed. 

“Honestly, Potter,” I glared. “I’m going to pay your Muggle family a visit right after breakfast.” 

He rolled his eyes and fixed me with a patronising glance. 

“I’ve already told you, _Malfoy_ ,” he drawled. “There _aren’t_ any baby photos of me.”

“I know they won’t move so won’t be nearly half as embarrassing,” I conceded, glaring at Mum anew as she sent Harry a few more photos, the dreadful broomstick one included, I was sure. 

“No, Draco,” Harry sighed, speaking to me as though I were still the toddler in the photos. “There aren’t any child-aged photos of me at all. Full stop.” 

“What do you mean, no photos?” Mum asked. “Did they get destroyed somehow?”

“Erm… no,” Harry paused to take another bite of his food. “There... just aren’t any.” 

“How can there be no photos of you, Harry?” I asked, eyes narrowing suspiciously.

Harry had already let on that his Muggle family had been less than keen on him being a wizard, but surely he was being dramatic about no photos existing. 

“They just didn’t take any,” he insisted, suddenly much more interested in his breakfast than discussing baby photos. “They’re an odd lot.” 

Harry, it seemed, wasn’t going to budge any on the topic, and Mum, being the gracious hostess she always was, sensed this and changed the subject.

I, however, decided to file this away for future reference. 


	24. Tea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ron and Hermione prepare for tea, wondering if Harry will show.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This update took me a while, trying to figure out what was going on and what order to put things in, and, tbh, I'm not entirely sure I've gotten it right, but I think this is the best it's going to get. 
> 
> As always, comments are appreciated!

_Saturday Afternoon_

_05 September 2009_

_Ron’s POV_

“Do you think he’ll still come round for tea?” I asked, taking the clotted cream and preserves out of the fridge. 

Hermione was finishing the sandwiches, so she didn’t reply right away. 

Honestly, we’d been anticipating a text from Harry sometime this morning seeing how he and Draco had left last night.

However, it was nearly time for tea, and still no text. 

“Maybe they made up,” I suggested, then sniggered to myself. 

“Maybe they’re _still_ making up.” 

“Honestly, Ron,” Hermione groaned, giving me a pained look, although she seemed on the verge of giggling herself. 

“Let’s just set up for tea as though he’ll be here,” she added. “I mean, it’d be unlike Harry to just stand us up, but he’s also going through a pretty significant life change at the moment...” 

She shrugged and placed the last of the sandwiches on the platter and picked it up along with the plate of scones to carry outside.

It was _just_ warm enough to warrant taking tea outside, so we’d decided to take advantage of the last vestiges of sunshine before it faded away into proper fall weather. 

“Ron, will you put the kettle on?” she called, as though I weren’t already doing just that. 

Thirteen years and she still thought I needed to be reminded about what to do. 

Honestly, Hermione should have had better faith in her “training” skills, I thought to myself with a snort of laughter. 

I was just getting ready to bring out the teacups when the doorbell rang and I practically ran to answer.

“Harry!” I cried, flinging open the door.

“Ron,” he replied, a bit surprised by my enthusiastic greeting. “Hey, mate.” 

He stepped inside and set off down the hallway, stopping by the kitchen to see what else needed to be brought to the table, as usual. 

“I’ve got the cups and the cream and jam,” he called out, exiting the kitchen. “What else do we need, ‘Mione?” 

“Harry!” she sounded just as pleased and excited as I had been. 

Harry stopped in his tracks, the three teacups and the plate of cream and jam balanced in his hands.

“What?” he asked, staring first at Hermione, then at me. 

“Why are you two being so weird?” 

He glanced at the table, and, seeing that it was empty, continued his path outside, where he set the plate and teacups down. 

Harry then rounded on us suddenly, arms crossed, one brow raised expectantly. 

Hermione immediately erupted into a fit of giggles and Harry and I both turned our attention to her.

“I’m sorry, Harry,” she apologised, still giggling a bit. “But that look was absolutely classic Draco.” 

Harry started, then grinned ruefully. 

“I suppose we’ve been spending quite a bit of time together,” he admitted, scratching the back of his neck. “But seriously, you two were being a bit odd.” 

“I mean, you left in a bit of a huff last night,” I reminded him as we took our seats around the table.

“Oh, right.” Harry frowned, reaching for a sandwich. “I’d forgotten about that.” 

“You… forgot?” Hermione asked, her own sandwich paused halfway to her mouth. 

“Harry, you just about skewered Malfoy alive with your eyes as you dragged him out of the pub,” I joked, earning a sharp elbow in the ribs from Hermione.

“I did, didn’t I,” Harry mused, finishing off his sandwich and reaching for another.

“I take it you and Draco worked out that little issue, then?” Hermione asked.

“Yeh,” Harry nodded, then frowned. 

“Do you want me to get the kettle? It’s been whistling for a bit, now….” 

“No, I’ll get it,” Hermione insisted, rising and giving me a pointed look. 

Of course, Harry caught it.

“So… she wants you to figure out what happened, then?” he asked, eyes slanting over to me as he took a bite from his sandwich. 

“Erm… you caught that, eh?” I joked, reaching for my own sandwich. 

“Are you sure either of you really wants the full details of said make-up session?”

Harry grinned wickedly and waggled his brows at me suggestively. 

“Argh, no!” I cried, screwing my face up. 

“No offence, but… no. Details are quite unnecessary.” 

Harry relaxed back into his chair and ran a hand through his hair then glanced over at me. 

“I… erm… had breakfast with Draco and his mum this morning,” he informed me. 

“You what?” I demanded incredulously, sitting upright and leaning in towards him. 

“Bloody hell, mate, that sounds intense.” 

“You know, it really wasn’t,” he mused, frowning in thought. “It seems like it would be, but it was quite pleasant.” 

“What was quite pleasant?” Hermione asked, returning with the kettle. 

“Breakfast with Malfoy and his mum,” I replied, wincing as she nearly dropped the kettle. 

“ _What_?” 

Harry sighed and rolled his eyes.

“Apparently Draco and his mum have breakfast the first Saturday of each month,” he informed us. “So, naturally, I went with.” 

“Naturally?” Hermione repeated at almost the same moment I asked:

“Where did you go?” 

Harry just sniggered and poured himself a cup of tea. 

“Naturally,” he repeated, giving Hermione a pointed stare as he poured us each a cuppa. “They’re both well-mannered enough not to leave me sitting alone in his flat.”

Harry set the kettle in its trivet and grabbed a scone.

“As for where,” he paused, knowing we were hanging on his every word.

“Claridges.” 

“Claridges?” Hermione echoed, and I stared blankly at the both of them.

“What’s Claridges?” I asked. 

“Only one of the poshest spots in Muggle London,” Hermione replied. 

“But nice,” she added, raising her teacup to her mouth with both hands, as she always did, which I still found to be adorable. 

“Yeah,” Harry agreed with a nod. 

“I was definitely a bit worried when walking in, but it was actually really enjoyable. And the food was _incredible_.” 

“And?” Hermione pressed. 

“And what?” Harry asked, frowning around a mouthful of scone. 

“Well… what did you talk about? What did you do? What did you eat? Anything!”

“Erm… well…” Harry paused, then grinned to himself. 

“Did you know you can order things that aren’t on the actual menu?” 

“What?” Hermione asked again, nearly dropping her scone.

“Of course you can,” she added, recovering herself and taking a bite. “So long as they’ve got the ingredients, you can order whatever you want, really.” 

“I didn’t know that,” Harry admitted quietly.

“Me neither,” I assured him. “I don’t think, anyway.” 

“So… what did you eat?” Hermione asked again, curious, as was I, to know what delectable delicacy Harry had demanded from one of London’s poshest addresses.

“Eggs Royale with avocado,” he replied.

“What are eggs royale?” I asked, slathering a scone with cream and jam. 

“It’s like Eggs Benedict but with salmon and truffles,” Harry replied, taking a sip of tea. 

“They’re bloody wonderful,” he added, eyes sliding shut at the memory of his fancy breakfast dish.

“With avocado?” Hermione asked. “Sounds quite rich.” 

“It was decadent,” Harry agreed with a firm nod, and I couldn’t help but snigger. 

“What was Narcissa like?” I couldn’t help but ask. 

Harry frowned again.

“Kindness and decorum incarnate,” he said finally. “With the perfect amount of cheek and naughty humour thrown in.” 

“So… Mummy Draco?” Hermione asked, grinning. 

Harry nearly snorted his tea out of his nose from laughing.

“Yes,” he agreed, wiping his face, still giggling. “Quite.” 

“Well, Harry, I’m happy for you,” I told him earnestly. “Really.” 

“Thanks,” Harry replied, taking another bite of his scone. 

“I mean, honestly, who would’ve ever guessed, you and Malfoy?” 

“I don’t know,” Hermione countered, because, much as I loved my wife, of course, she would. “I think you and Draco make sense.” 

Even Harry started a bit and stared at her as though she were daft. 

Hermione rolled her eyes, as though her thought process were obvious and written out for the two of us on a chalkboard.

“Yes, you hated each other at Hogwarts, but it’s obviously because you actually _liked_ each other, or, you know, were drawn to each other.” 

Harry and I continued to stare at her.

“You were young and told you were on opposite sides, so naturally, you manifested your attraction in a very negative way, but now that we’re all grown…” 

Hermione shrugged and looked at Harry as though daring him to counter her. 

“I suppose,” he agreed, although I couldn’t have told you if he actually did or was just acquiescing. 

Harry was starring at a point in the floor, deep in thought.

“I’m bloody mad for him,” he informed us both, quite suddenly, eyes snapping up to meet both of ours, as though challenging either one of us to question his statement.

“Of course you are,” I replied, and Harry’s gaze slid over to me, silently demanding that I explain. 

“I mean, don’t get me wrong,” I explained. “That much was obvious from seeing the two of you last night.” 

Harry pulled a mildly chagrinned face and rolled his eyes.

“Right, sorry about that,” he apologised. 

“I can’t really be responsible for the way I behave around him,” he added with a rueful grin.

“Nor he, you,” Hermione assured him with a fond smile. 

There was an awkward pause where we all busily prepared another scone.

“You… are being careful with him, though, right?”

Hermione was the first to break the silence.

Harry blushed furiously and nearly choked on his mouthful.

“I… what?” he croaked.

Hermione was also blushing, and I knew my face was probably an equal shade of crimson.

Why in Merlin’s name would Hermione ask Harry a question like that?

“No!” Hermione groaned. “I’m sorry, Harry, that came across rather poorly.”

She offered him a sheepish smile as she grasped his hand across the table.

“I meant…” she paused, eyes flicking upwards like they always did when she was thinking on the fly. 

“Draco’s… rather sensitive, is all,” she said finally, and I let out a huge guffaw.

Harry and Hermione both shot me a withering glare, and I quieted immediately.

“Sorry…” 

“I know, Mione,” Harry assured her.

“Do you?” she countered.

I was still completely lost.

Draco Malfoy, nice as he’d turned out to be post-war, was not sensitive. 

“I mean, you and he are both on the same page about this relationship, right?” 

“Obviously.” 

Harry shrugged, taking another sip of tea.

“Harry,” Hermione warned, and I frowned at both of them.

“Is there something about Malfoy I don’t know?” I asked. 

“There’s lots about Malfoy you don’t know,” Harry chuckled, earning a glare and resounding smack from Hermione. 

“Ow,” Harry groaned, rubbing at his arm, shooting Hermione a good-natured grin. 

“It’s none of your business, Ron,” Hermione assured me. “But Draco tends to take relationships very seriously. Harry, you’re not just in this for, well… _fun_ , are you?” 

Harry started and swallowed nervously.

“No,” he replied, finally, green eyes staring at Hermione. “Course not.” 

“Good,” Hermione replied, and I could only look between the two of them questioningly. 

“What do you say we talk about something else?” I suggested hopefully. 

“Harry and Draco know what they’re doing, and Harry doesn’t need us poking our nose into their business.” 

Hermione nodded and Harry smiled at me, somewhat gratefully, as the conversation turned towards Samhain next month, a comfortable topic for us all. 


	25. A Brief Turning of the Tables

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flashback to Harry & Draco's afternoon after Narcissa leaves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, comments, no matter how brief, are loved.

_Flashback  
Saturday Morning_

_05 September 2009_

Harry’s _POV_

Draco and his mum were walking side-by-side, just a tad ahead of me, Narcissa busy telling Draco all about what had been happening at their chateau in the Loire Valley, and I took the opportunity to sneak my mobile out of my pocket to open the text Narcissa had sent me. 

Mini-Draco peering out from behind the sofa in the impressive Malfoy library had been adorable.

Toddler Draco putting all the effort a three-year-old could muster into racing his father on a broom had nearly killed me, it was so bloody cute. 

However, Narcissa had also sent a few more photos, with the warning “It would be in both of our best interests that Draco didn’t find out I’ve shared these with you until later. Also, it may, one day, be handy to know that there is very little that cannot be fixed with Draco if good-quality chocolate and a sincere apology are involved.” 

I smiled to myself at the thoughtful advice tidbit and opened the first of the three photos with anticipation. 

In it, the littlest Draco yet sat on a youthful, smiling Narcissa’s lap, surrounded by a small crowd of adults, presumably family and friends, seeing as Bellatrix and Snape were both present, disconcerting, to say the least, as they were both also smiling and, well, looking happy. 

They were enthusiastically singing “Happy Birthday” while baby Draco looked up and around at them in a sort of befuddled awe, this clearly being his first birthday, and I realised with a jolt that, when this photo had been taken, I had still been living at home with my parents at Godric’s Hollow. 

And that we would be celebrating my own first birthday just a short month later. 

Draco’s stormy blue-grey eyes, already striking, even at this young age, came to focus on a point just in front of him, but out of the lens of the camera. 

The object of Draco’s attention appeared to be moving closer, his eyes widening, little blond brows lifting, and mouth opening to form a perfect little “O” of surprise as Lucius came into view, smiling broadly at his son. 

A birthday cake with a single magical sparkler spurting out colourful sparks was floating alongside Lucius, and was, clearly, the object that had caught little Draco’s attention. 

As the cake came to a halt to hover just in front of him, Draco’s eyes lit up and a pleased smile, similar to the one he still smiled today, spread across his face as he made the realisation that all this hubbub was for _him_. 

The photo ended with Draco looking adoringly up at his Mum. 

It was, literally, all I could do not to run and catch up with present-day Draco, grab him, and snog the living daylight out of him because what the bloody hell else was I supposed to do when confronted with this kind of adorable? 

A brief glance upwards told me that he and his mum were still deeply engrossed in their conversation, so I quickly swiped to the next photo, and actually did stop in my tracks.

It was one-year-old Draco, being presented a slice of his cake, heaped high with frosting. 

His eyes were still wandering cautiously, probably wondering why all the adults were gathered round him, watching with rapt attention as he leant forward to take a tentative bite of the proffered cake, some of the frosting smearing across his nose, mouth, and chin as he did so. 

His eyes widened almost comically as he continued to chew tentatively on his bite, face turning back to his audience, this time almost hurt and accusing, as though holding all the adults surrounding him accountable for having held out on him about this wonderful secret called cake. 

Lucius made a slight movement, as though to pull the plate of cake away from Draco, and the snap ended with his pudgy little hand darting out to grab at the slice of cake, his eyes focused with an intensity that was precocious for a child so young. 

The third, and final, snapshot showed an entirely blissed-out Draco, eyelids fluttering at half-mast, leaning contentedly against his mum, a fistful of cake held up to his mouth, most of it and the frosting smeared all over his face, crumbs trailing down his fancy birthday outfit as he gave a satisfied sigh whilst chewing absentmindedly. 

“Did you enjoy that, Draco, darling?” Narcissa asked, leaning down to coo in her son’s ear. 

While unlikely that Draco understood her question at that age, he responded by heaving another contented sigh and turning to look up at Narcissa, holding his fistful of mangled cake up to share. 

“Oh, no, sweetheart,” she giggled, leaning down once more to place a kiss atop Draco’s head. “That’s all for _you_.” 

This scene ended with Draco giving himself another pleased smile, bringing the fistful of cake back to his mouth, as he snuggled back into his mum, the crash following his first-ever sugar high already taking over. 

“Harry,” Draco called, snapping me back from my journey into his past. “Everything alright?” 

“Hmm?” I realised I was still standing in the middle of the pavement. 

“Sorry,” I apologised, quickly shoving my mobile into my pocket as I hurried to catch up. “Just a text from work.” 

“It’s us who should apologise,” Narcissa countered, as I fell into step alongside them once more. “We’re probably boring you half to death with all this talk about the chateau.” 

“We’ll have to go for a long weekend, sometime, Harry,” Draco said, slipping his hand into mine. “But first we’ll have to work on your frightful lack of knowledge concerning wine.” 

“I’m just not picky,” I protested.

“Mum, I asked him if he preferred a Cab, Merlot, or Zin, and he said ‘ _red’_ ,” Draco informed her as though this were a horrific crime. 

Narcissa only chuckled and looked at both of us affectionately as she paused at the entryway to Draco’s building. 

Draco keyed in the entry code and we resumed our mundane banter as we entered the elevator.

“I’m always amazed at what muggles have been able to do,” Narcissa sighed, looking around the tiny box in admiration. “Imagine, constructing something like an elevator, without any magic. Muggles can really be quite clever, can’t they? Do you think they’ll one day figure out how to make them move in all directions like ours do?” 

She sounded so much like Arthur Weasley that I couldn’t help bursting into laughter. 

“I know,” she seemed to understand my outburst immediately. “Who would have ever thought? Narcissa Malfoy, appreciating the work of muggles.” 

Once inside Draco’s flat, Narcissa positively beamed up at her son and held out her arms. 

“Draco, darling,” she said, arms folding around him and pulling him close. “I’ll see you later to discuss business at the manor, I assume?” 

“Of course,” he replied, hugging her back, leaning his head down to rest his cheek atop her head, and, for about the millionth time in my life, I felt that familiar pang of jealousy that I would never get to experience that with my own mum. 

“Harry, dear,” she turned out of Draco’s embrace to fix me with a warm smile. “It really was such a pleasure catching up with you today.”

She held her arms out to me, somewhat tentatively, and I grinned, stepping into her proffered embrace. 

“Absolutely,” I replied, returning her hug and enjoying the motherly touch, even though part of my brain still lamented the fact that she was not _my_ mum. 

“Likewise,” I added, stepping somewhat awkwardly back, and scratching at the back of my head. 

“Draco.” 

Something about Narcissa’s demeanour as she turned her attention back to her son told me that she knew exactly what was going through my head at the moment. 

“I trust you’ll be by for dinner at least once during the week?” 

She turned her head to look at me again, another soft smile on her face.

“And, no obligation, Harry, but it would be lovely if you decided to join us on at least one of those evenings.” 

“Erm… yeah, sure,” I replied. “I’d love to.” 

Something told me that, between Draco and Narcissa, I was going to be agreeing to a lot of dinners, outings, and the like in the future. 

With one, last, parting smile, Narcissa disapparated without so much as a pop. 

“Are… are you alright?” Draco asked, and I looked over to see my boyfriend looking absolutely contrite and, to be entirely honest, just a tad worried. 

“Of course,” I replied, brow furrowing. “Why wouldn’t I be?” 

“Erm… well, you know,” he shrugged, averting his gaze. “This morning, and all.” 

“Oh!” I couldn’t help but laugh. 

Had Draco been worried about that all day?

“I mean, I don’t ever want a repeat, but I’d say the rest of the morning went nicely enough,” I reasoned, giving him a one-shouldered shrug. 

Draco grinned back at me. 

“So… then I’m allowed to ask that you finish what you started?” he asked, taking the few steps separating us and pulling me up against him. 

“What have I started?” I asked, wrapping my arms around his neck and blinking up at him, feigning innocence, despite the fact that Draco’s cock grinding into my hip told me exactly what he was hinting at. 

“This morning,” he murmured, head tilting down to kiss me, hands already fumbling to find their way beneath the hem of my sweater and shirt to tug them up and over my head, my own hands unclasping from his neck to help as we began the now-familiar stumble down the hallway to his room. 

“You woke me with a surprise in mind,” he reminded me, barely pulling away from the kiss we’d currently been engaged in so that his lips still moved teasingly against my own as he spoke.

Draco’s hands moved to dip into the front of my trousers, pulling me both towards him and further along the hallway as we continued, when he turned suddenly so that he was now walking forwards, arms wrapping around me once more, one hand tangling into the hair at the nape of my neck, the other reaching down to trace the curve of my arse to pull me closer to him. 

He was, I noted, worked up into another frenzy, like how he’d been when we’d left our first breakfast together just a few weeks ago. 

Maybe it was a decadent breakfast that got Draco so worked up? I wondered and almost giggled to myself as my knees hit the mattress behind me. 

“Potter,” he growled, pulling away to frown down at me. 

“Where is that pretty little head of yours?” he asked. “It’s not here with me….” 

“Of course it is, silly” I assured him, raising on my tip-toes to give him a brief kiss as I stepped around him, turning him round so our positions were reversed.

“Just thinking of how, exactly, I’m going to finish…” I paused and gave him another brief kiss.

“What.” Another kiss and Draco whinged audibly when I pulled away.

“I.” Still, another kiss, and I was beginning to understand what was so fun about this teasing business. 

“Started,” I finished, giving Draco one last, lingering kiss before I urged him to sit on the bed, grey-blue eyes staring up at me as his hands went to begin unfastening my trousers.

“Ah, ah,” I chided, grasping each of his hands in one of my own and stepping just out of his reach. 

“I’m going to take care of you,” I continued, stepping back towards him and kneeling to straddle him, allowing myself to graze his straining cock, a small moan escaping my lips despite strict instructions to myself to remain in control. 

“ _Harry,”_ he groaned, hips lifting in encouragement, mouth seeking mine as his hands resumed their frenzied exploration of my torso. 

“ _Draco_ ,” I replied, smirking down at him as I shoved his jacket off of his shoulders and began loosening his tie. 

Draco seemed accepting of my taking the lead again, and leant back, propping himself up on his elbows, watching me as my fingers began slipping the buttons of his shirt through the buttonholes. 

Gods, why was I always so quick to vanish or tear his clothing away instead of unwrapping him slowly like the delightful gift that he was. 

“Harry,” he sighed again as I leaned down to nip gently at his neck, my hands now moving to his trousers. 

I shifted my weight to my right hand, the left gently palming the straining bulge in his pants as I slid my knees off the bed to kneel between his thighs. 

I allowed myself the pleasure of looking up at him as I tugged both trousers and pants off, and appreciated, for the millionth time, the absolute perfection laid out before me. 

“Gods, you’re perfect,” I heard my voice telling him as I leant forward to suck at just the tip of Draco’s cock, like he’d commanded me to all those months ago. 

When I’d had my first taste of him. 

His hands were immediately threading through my hair, hips rising again, urging me to take more of him into my mouth.

I reluctantly forced myself to draw back, disentangling his hands from my hair as I did so. 

“No, Draco,” I chided again, placing his hands on either side of him so that they curved and gripped gently at the edge of the mattress.

I leant back in to take just the tip of him into my mouth once more, tongue swirling and licking up the pre-cum literally streaming from his slit as my hands stroked gently up his thighs. 

I felt more than heard Draco’s anguished moan when he realised that his hands were magically bound to the edge of the bed and I managed another smirk around my mouthful as I began to slide down his length, mouth and tongue moulding themselves to the familiar shape of him as I swallowed, allowing my eyes to flutter shut as I gave myself over to the pure luxury of being allowed to indulge in Draco’s fucking perfect cock. 

After a few slick, even slides, up and down, tongue curling around his head each time, I slowed my pace, groaning as I began to slowly work just the top half of his prick, one hand reaching up to wrap around the bottom half to slide and twist in tandem with my mouth. 

My eyes flickered open and locked with Draco’s as I continued sucking and slurping at his cock, allowing my spit to pool and dribble from my mouth, not only to keep Draco nice and slicked up so that I could continue indulging myself but because I also knew damned well what I looked like, mouth stretched wide and slobbering around his dick like it was leaking fucking treacle onto my tongue.

I groaned and made myself pull off, releasing him with a wet slurp.

“Merlin, I love sucking your cock,” I informed him, bending back down to lap gently at his slit before sucking gently at just the tip again. 

“I could suck your cock for hours,” I added, swallowing him slowly, all the way down, then sliding back up, just as slowly, and repeating. One. Two. Three times.

“No, you couldn't,” Draco’s voice gasped above me, and I popped off completely, brow raised to challenge his statement.

“Couldn't I?” 

I braced one hand on each of his knees and gently pushed his legs further apart as I leaned back in to lick and suck at the base of his cock, paying close attention to the sensitive spot just above his bollocks.

“No,” he said again, the remainder of whatever he’d been about to say cut off by another groan as I daintily licked up his entire length with the just the tip of my tongue, following the pulsing vein on the underside of his cock to the very crown. 

“Why’s that?” I demanded, repeating this motion to see if I could earn another one of those groans, because, well, who the fuck wouldn’t want to turn someone like Draco Malfoy into a groaning mess with his mouth if given the opportunity. 

I paused at the top of his dick, eyes meeting his expectantly.

“Because, there’s no damned way I could last hours with that damnable mouth of yours on me,” he sighed, hips rising slightly, almost hopefully and I couldn’t help but smirk up at him. 

“Sounds like a challenge, to me,” I countered, eyes never leaving his as I drew just the tip of him back into my warm, sucking mouth. 

“Harry,” he cried, eyes snapping shut. “No!”

“Mmm,” I answered noncommittally, still sucking languidly at just the tip. 

“You’re the one who’s all about edging,” I reminded him, pulling off again and raising myself up to kiss him softly on the mouth.

“Harry,” Draco whinged again. 

“ _Please_. Not now. I’ve been on edge all morning,” he added grumpily, pouting down at me as I returned my mouth to his dick, swallowing all the way down, positively relishing the strangled moan and desperate bucking of his hips as I did so. 

“Right, this morning,” I sighed, releasing him from my mouth once more and resting my cheek against his thigh, one hand tracing abstract patterns up and down his calf, the other wrapping loosely around his cock and gently stroking as though there was a chance Draco might start to soften if I stopped touching him for too long. 

“I believe I was in the middle of riding you as though both our lives depended on it,” I mused, tilting my face upwards to look at him. 

His eyes were still closed, and I couldn’t help but twist my hand over the head of his dick on my next slide up. 

“Is _that_ the thing I’d started that you wanted me to finish?” 

I knew just how wide and innocent my eyes could go and shamelessly gave Draco my most sweet, angelic smile as I stared up at him, the hand still travelling up and down his length rather a juxtaposition to the look I was currently beaming up at him. 

“Brilliant, Potter,” he snapped, stormy eyes practically shooting icicles at me as I continued to stare up at him innocently. “Very astute.” 

Draco’s head fell back as I gave another twist at the top of his cock. 

“Yes, that’s what I bloody want you to finish. Want to see you back on my cock… want to feel that sweet arse of yours opening around me, swallowing me down even more greedily than that unholy mouth of yours does,” he continued, and my hand faltered from its steady path up and down said cock as my eyes slid shut and I moaned at the picture Draco’s words were painting. 

“Want to see that look of sheer bliss come over your face as you slide down those last few centimetres…”

Here, Draco paused, eyes flicking down to gauge the effect his words were having on me. 

“How did you put it?” he paused, pretending to think, and I groaned again as I removed my hand from him and placed one hand on each knee to push myself up so that I could look him in the eye. 

“ _They’re just so good,”_ he purred, voice sliding into that special register of his that I liked to call “pure sex.” 

I shook my head, telling myself to snap out of it.

“No, Draco,” I managed to say as I settled myself on his lap once more, hands tangling in his hair. “Don’t you dare.” 

“I know _exactly_ what you’re trying to do,” I added, pulling back to give him my best glare. 

But I’ll be damned if my mouth couldn’t keep itself separated from his, and I found myself leaning down, hands tilting Draco’s head so that I could kiss him more deeply. 

“I’m not trying to do anything,” he insisted, still managing to continue kissing me and I could feel his arms straining as he tried, yet again, to lift his hands against the magical bonds I’d cast on him. 

“I’m just telling you how much I appreciate what a wanton, shameless slut you are for my cock,” he continued, rocking his hips up against my still-clothed arse to prove his point, seeing as I couldn’t hold back the “wanton, shameless” moan that tore from my throat as he did so. 

“Talk about unholy mouths,” I gasped out between kisses. “I’ve already _told_ you yours ought to be illegal.”

We continued, hips grinding, mouths seeking, hands feeling, and I felt Draco’s triumphant smirk as I allowed myself to all but melt and collapse above him. 

Perfect, I thought to myself, straightening up and pulling away to smirk back down at him. 

“Draco.” I sighed, leaning in for one more lingering kiss. 

“You can talk at me with that ridiculous mouth of yours all you want,” I chuckled, eyes slanting down to meet his own, slightly wide in surprise. 

“I’m not letting you go, and I’m not letting you be in control.” 

“You said you wanted me to finish what I’d started this morning,” I reminded him, leaning back in for yet another kiss, smiling down at him indulgently. 

“And I think we need to quiet this filthy mouth of yours so that I can continue,” I added, lifting one hand to trace my fingers along the fullness of Draco’s bottom lip. 

Draco’s mouth opened immediately to suck at the delicate pads of my fingers and I took the opportunity to slide just my middle finger all the way into his mouth, Draco sucking the entire digit dutifully, eyes sliding shut as he did so. 

I continued to fuck Draco’s mouth with that one finger, slowly, sometimes withdrawing to just the first knuckle, other times pulling my entire finger from his eager mouth, Draco releasing the spit-soaked digit with a woeful stare and positively precious pout that left me wondering how _I’d_ been the one in this relationship labelled a cock-sucking slut. 

I sighed and added a second finger, sliding both into the warm velvet of his mouth, leaning in to nip at his ear, lingering to whisper:

“I don’t know all what you remember about this morning.” 

I gently pulled his earlobe into my mouth again, releasing it with a quick nip that made Draco gasp. 

“But, instead of you waking up with me already swallowing your cock with my arse, as you so delicately put it,” I continued, driving both fingers back into his mouth, deep as I could, ensuring that Draco’s obscene mind couldn’t distract me from my goal for the time being. 

“You woke a bit earlier than I’d anticipated…” 

I gazed down at him, those grey-blue eyes locked on mine, his groan vibrating around my fingers as I continued. 

“And, if I’m going to finish what I started this morning,” I paused to slip still a third finger into Draco’s mouth and he positively keened around them, eyes still watching me, sparkling in anticipation.

“Then I’m going to need to work myself open just a bit,” I explained, relishing in the groan he let loose as his eyes finally slid shut, no doubt reliving the scene he’d woken to this morning.

“You know,” I grinned down at him as I withdrew my fingers from his mouth with a pop. “Exactly how I was doing when you woke up.” 

I trailed my hand slowly down the front of him, grinning as his eyes fluttered open when he felt the bare skin of my arse grazing lightly against him once I vanished the rest of my clothing away. 

My grin turned nothing short of evil as I continued to trail my hand down his torso, brushing along his side to glide along and around my thigh and reach around behind me. 

“H-Harry,” he choked out, eyes riveted to where my hand disappeared behind me as I circled my opening with one spit-slicked digit. 

I allowed myself a quiet moan of my own as I pushed past the tight opening, relishing, as I always did, the first breach, only heightening my anticipation for what was to come. 

I groaned in earnest now as my finger slid deeper inside of me, my arse gripping at it tightly as it drove its way slowly in and out. 

After a few teasing glides, I added a second finger, forcing myself to look down at Draco instead of focusing on the pleasure of fucking myself with my own hand. 

“Do you like that, love?” I asked, stilling my hand and working myself up and down my own fingers with my entire body, knowing that it would give Draco a much better visual. 

“Mmm…” he groaned. 

“I thought you might be a bit jealous, maybe,” I went on, as though he hadn’t made a sound, still working myself up and down my fingers at a steady pace, eyes slanting open to ensure that Draco was still watching with rapt attention. 

“Jealous?” his brow almost furrowed as he tried to follow my line of thought. 

“Yes,” I encouraged, slipping a third finger into my now willing hole and picking up the pace _just_ slightly. 

Just so that Draco would realized what I’d done. 

“Because I know how much you enjoy working me open,” I sighed, allowing my head to roll back, because, fuck, sometimes fucking yourself open on your own fingers whilst your boyfriend looked on in dazed awe was something special, wasn’t it? 

“ _Yes_ ,” he agreed, eyes blinking open to look at me, a pained expression on his face as he jerked his arms against his magical bonds more urgently. 

“With your fingers,” I gasped out, working my fingers in and out of my opening.

“And with your mouth,” I sighed, eyes sliding shut as I imagined Draco’s wicked mouth working against my arse. 

“But,” I continued, bravely, having no idea where the bloody hell any of my overly-confident bravado was coming from. 

“You’ll just have to be satisfied for now with watching me do it.” 

“Harry,” he whinged again, looking almost delirious with want as he continued to watch me, unable to touch me or assist in any way. 

“Tell, me, Draco,” I murmured, tugging at his bottom lip with my teeth. “How do you know when I’m ready?” 

My fingers were sliding easily in and out of my more-than-ready hole at this point, but I felt like teasing Draco just a bit more.

He only groaned and snapped his eyes shut in response, and I leaned down to kiss him deeply. 

“When do you know it’s time to stop fucking me open with your fingers or your mouth, and begin fucking me proper with this insanely perfect cock of yours?” I demanded, still kissing him, as I removed my fingers and began stroking lube along Draco’s cock.

Sweet Merlin, but Draco, staring up at me with completely lust-blown eyes, all but incapable of speech was, quite possibly, the hottest thing I’d ever seen in my life. 

“I-I… I don’t,” he managed to stammer out. “I… _please_ , Harry!” 

A part of me knew that, had the tables been turned, Draco would have strung me along just a bit longer, but, well…

I wasn’t Draco, was I? 

I was just as eager to have his cock inside me as he was, and I felt I’d deprived myself for the sake of giving Draco a taste of his own medicine long enough. 

With a sigh, I began to lower myself onto his length, gasping and biting my lip as the thick, flared head eased through my slackened opening, and I couldn’t help allowing myself to slide down just a few more centimetres, enjoying the feeling of myself opening around him. 

“Gods, yes,” Draco groaned beneath me, hips thrusting up to bury another few centimetres inside of me, and all thoughts of teasing him by sinking centimetre by aching centimetre down the entire length of his cock flew from my brain as I allowed myself to glide down him, all but swallowing his prick like with my arse, as he’d so delicately pointed out earlier. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” I groaned into his mouth, one hand clasping the back of his head lest he get any ideas to try to pull away from me. 

We stayed like that for a few moments, tongues tangling languidly, hips rocking gently against each other before Draco tore his mouth away.

“Harry,” he sighed, head falling back, giving me the perfect opportunity to lick, and nibble, and suck bruises along his neck and jawline. 

“Let me go,” he urged, arms straining once more.

“No.” 

I didn’t elaborate and continued to lift and lower myself on his cock, stopping any whinging or rebuttals from Draco by fastening my mouth to his, coaxing and sucking at his tongue as it delved and teased in and out of my own mouth. 

Suddenly, I rose and let Dracoslip entirely from my body, giving him a quick, reassuring kiss at the desperate cry of protest he gave. 

“Shh, love,” I soothed, lifting one hand to caress his cheek as I smiled down at him. 

“ _Harry_ ,” he begged again, and I couldn’t help but indulge him with another kiss. 

Once I’d managed to tear my mouth from his, I turned around and arranged myself so that I could lower myself back onto his length, allowing myself a throaty moan as he leant forward to press little kisses along my back as I did so, tongue darting out to lap and swirl at my skin every once in a while. 

“What, in Merlin’s name, are you _doing_ to me, Harry?” Draco finally managed to groan out once I’d seated myself fully on his length. 

I smirked to myself as I reached an arm back to pull Draco’s face round for a proper snog. 

“Watch,” I replied, tearing my mouth from his as I began to lift and lower myself once more, anticipating Draco’s reaction to…

“Fucking _Morgana_ , Potter, are you trying to kill me?” 

It was even better than I could have imagined and I tilted my head back to rest in the crook of his neck, taking in our reflection in the mirror I’d conjured to stand before us. 

My right arm reached up and around behind me so that my fingers could tangle in the thick, silky strands of Draco’s golden hair while the left took its time trailing down across my neck, my chest, stopping to play and twist at my nipples, Draco’s strangled moan as he watched, honestly just a bonus, before my hand continued its lazy path down my abdomen before finally circling my own dick to slide up and down it in time to my body still rising up and down Draco’s cock. 

“You like?” I asked, the effect I was having on him lodging somewhere in the back of my mind as I continued to fuck myself slowly, hand leaving its leisurely wank job to trail along my thighs before returning to touch and caress and trail aimlessly all over my body. 

“I…” he gasped, eyes snapping up to meet mine in the mirror. “Fuck. Yes. Of _course,_ I like….” 

Draco’s hips began to snap up into me at a much quicker pace than I was willing to permit at this point, and I smirked at his strangled gasp when another wordless spell all but glued his sweet little arse down to the mattress. 

“Draco,” I scolded, lifting up so that just the thick head of his cock remained inside me.

“You’re supposed to be watching me,” I informed him, allowing my weight to carry me back down the thick, heavy weight of his shaft. 

My eyes fluttered shut at the pure bliss of slide of him opening me and I missed any visual response Draco offered me in our mirror, but his body… arms, thighs, torso contracted all around me as his muscles bunched and tensed in an effort to drive into me further, and I allowed myself a small smile of triumph as I rose up his length again. 

I continued, rising and falling, slowly, before I blinked my eyes open to find Draco’s riveted to our reflection in the mirror. 

“Harry,” he groaned again, eyes snapping shut as he turned his face to burrow and suck bruises into my neck. 

“You’re… I… this… not fair,” he gasped out, body still straining against his bonds. 

“You’ve only yourself to thank,” I informed him, still leisurely fucking myself on him. 

He didn’t respond, so I, naturally, gave a wicked squeeze and twist of my hips as I reached the tip of his dick, earning myself a pained whimper and the pleasure of seeing Draco’s blue-grey eyes all but plead with mine in the mirror. 

“Wh-what?” 

His eyes slid shut again as I sank back down, teeth pulling at his bottom lip as though it might speed my actions up somehow. 

“Before last night, I’d have never thought of fucking someone before a mirror,” I informed him, still, somehow, gods-only-know-how, forcing my body to rise and fall in a smooth, steady rhythm. 

“Now…” I paused for a full cycle up and down Draco’s cock, groaning and arching my back as I bottomed out once more. 

“Now?” Grey eyes met mine in the mirror and I gave us both a much-needed pause. 

“Now, you’ve taught me to look at me with your eyes,” I sighed, hand reaching back once more to tangle in his hair. 

“Now I _want_ to tease myself,” I continued circling my hips to grind further down in his lap. 

“Because I know it teases _you…_ know you want to see me falling apart on you.” 

I rose about halfway up his length before sliding back down, groaning at the incredible sense of fullness being fully seated on Draco still managed to bring. 

Fuck, I thought to myself, dragging myself back up his entire length and sinking back down again.

Would this ever get old? 

I opened my eyes again and took in the mind-blowing, positively immoral picture we made. 

That _I_ made, really, legs spread impossibly wide across Draco’s splayed thighs, his cock undeniably embedded up my arse, bollocks already drawn up tightly, just visible beneath my own, leading up to my dripping, reddened dick, torso heaving with the breaths I was taking to keep myself under control. 

My head still lolled back lazily into the crook of Draco’s neck, and his eyes.

Fuck me. 

His eyes. 

They were staring at me… at us, with an intensity that almost frightened me. 

Why the bloody hell did that make my dick twitch and turn me on even more? 

I smiled, eyes sliding closed, and arched back against him once again. 

“Mmm,” I all but purred and hoped to damn fucking Circe he was calling me Kitten in his head

if he was even capable of that sort of thought right now. 

“I just love when you’re inside me.” 

I rolled my hips and arched once more, Draco’s groan rumbling through me as he strained to follow my movements. 

I forced myself to open my eyes and watch him in the mirror again.

“I bet I could just sit here all day,” I confided, smiling softly, hips rolling again. 

“Sit here all day and all night, just blissed out and spread open on your fucking perfect cock.” 

Draco’s eyes slid shut and I felt his cock twitch deep inside me.

“Would you like that?” 

“ _No_ ,” he sobbed, almost immediately. “Yes… no…” 

I felt a surge of magic that wasn’t my own course through me, and the bedside lamp nearest us shattered.

And I’d be a goddamned liar if I said that didn’t send a delicious shiver of anticipation through me. 

Draco was going to absolutely make me pay for this, and Merlin only knew I deserved it half as much as I wanted it. 

“Then what would you like?” I asked softly, watching Draco in the mirror. 

“I…” he drew a shaky breath and I heard the shattering of some other fragile item somewhere in the room dissolving. 

His eyes opened to meet mine, a stormy swirl of blues and greys and light green, and my breath caught because fuck, how the hell was I so damned lucky? 

“Let me go,” he said again, quietly. 

Next second, I found myself standing, all but yanked off of his cock, being spun round in Draco’s arms as we tumbled back onto the bed. 

“I,” he began, thrusting his entire length into me in one solid, fluid motion that had me keening and arching up into him, legs wrapping around his waist to pull him in as close as humanly possible. 

“Would like,” Draco continued, withdrawing almost completely, and I could only gibber in protest, legs and arms scrabbling to pull him back. 

“To fuck you.” 

Another smooth, calculated thrust into me that had me responding exactly how he wanted, I was sure. 

“Until.”

An equally well-timed slide, entirely out this time, so that I could only whine and plead and whimper. 

Draco nudged at my opening and drove in once more, one hand moving to caress reverently down my side before curving around to cup my arse, bringing me even closer to him. 

“You can’t walk right…” 

I could only pull his face down to mine and demand a proper kiss to go along with the brilliant fucking he was gifting me with down below.

“For at least a week….” he pulled away just long enough to add this before his mouth fastened to mine once more and he began to fuck me so deeply and thoroughly that I, quite honestly, felt he’d make absolutely good on his promise. 

I groaned and stretched up towards him, hips snapping up to meet his, my own prick being massaged quite nicely between our slick, frantically rutting bodies. 

“ _Please,_ ” I cried out, not sure if I was begging for release or for Draco to make good on his promise.

No matter.

Either way, he turned my face towards his, mouth capturing mine as he began to drive into me with renewed vigour, and, before I could even process it, I was convulsing around him, my orgasm tearing through me like a surprise ambush, leaving me gasping and scrambling and actually crying for more as Draco thrust into my spasming channel just a few seconds longer before he came with a cry, teeth digging into my neck as he collapsed on top of me.

“Merlin, Harry,” he groaned, rolling to his right and pulling me up alongside him. 

“You’re going to fucking kill me one of these days….” 


	26. Mums Really Do Know Best

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco has tea with Narcissa at Malfoy Manor.  
> Naturally, Mum has some questions about Draco's new relationship.

_Saturday Afternoon_

_05 September 2009_

_Narcissa’s POV_

The shrill cry of a peacock broke through the peaceful quiet of the afternoon as I strolled the rose garden taking in the scent of the late summer bloom surrounding me, and my eyes snapped over to where the proud animal sat, tail feathers fanned out in a brilliant display of jewelled tones, at the end of the walk. 

Long gone were the boring, ostentatious albino peacocks Lucius had so fancied, his obsession with all things white and “pure” having reached such maniacal levels as to even manifest itself in those damn birds. 

They had been amongst the first to go once ownership of the manor had officially passed into Draco’s hands. 

Although we’d never discussed it, my son, apparently, hadn’t been fond of those pale, lifeless birds either, and one afternoon, during my habitual stroll through the gardens, I discovered that the charm employed that had kept them so pure and pale had been reversed so they all but sparkled in their cobalt and emerald splendour in the late afternoon sun. 

I very much enjoyed looking at them now, although I still found their strident cries quite jarring. 

I averted my path to avoid the still-squawking bird and allowed my thoughts to stray, once more, to the events of this morning. 

My Draco… falling in love with Harry Potter?

No, not falling, I chuckled to myself. 

Watching him watch Harry all morning told me Draco was long past falling. 

Of course, I couldn’t read Harry the way I could Draco, but as far as I could tell, he was equally enamoured.

And the looks they _thought_ they were sneaking past me every two seconds? 

Well, those ran the gauntlet from adorable and endearing to positively smouldering, and, frankly, I’d been surprised breakfast had lasted as long as it had. 

My musings were cut short as I caught a flash of silver from the corner of my eye and I turned to watch Draco come sauntering down the stone stairway into the garden.

“Draco!” I exclaimed, a smile spreading across my face almost immediately. 

Do all mothers feel the same, almost irrational, sense of delight whenever they see their children? I wondered. 

I hoped so. 

In one split second, I was overcome with waves of emotion: 

The first, nostalgia, remembering my darling little Draco who’d grown up playing in these very gardens, followed by a second surge of fierce pride at how he’d overcome being all but used as a pawn in his father’s schemes and lust for power, and not only that but had managed to use the past decade to restore a modicum of respect for the Malfoy name once more. 

Finally, one last swell of pure, motherly admiration as he held his arms out to greet me, speculating that my son (as all mothers thought of their children) was surely the most handsome child alive, was he not? 

“I wasn’t expecting to see you again so soon,” I admitted, stepping into his embrace.

“Harry had plans for tea,” he explained and I couldn’t suppress a chuckle.

“Oh, I see,” I replied, pulling back but still holding Draco at arm’s length to mock glare at him. 

“So if Harry _hadn’t_ had plans, I wouldn’t now be having the pleasure of your company?” 

“No,” he replied, rolling his eyes and grinning impishly as he twisted out of my embrace, much like he had when he was a teenager. “Highly unlikely, anyway.” 

Draco tugged slightly on the sleeves of his jacket and straightened it, as though it had gotten so horribly mussed, and I nearly rolled my eyes myself.

Draco had always been fastidious.

Agonisingly so, and while many assumed it was part of his Malfoy, pureblood-obsessed upbringing, it really wasn’t.

Even as a child, he’d had to make sure his little robes and outfits were hanging just so, would tidy up his books and papers so neatly on his little desk you’d have thought it straight from the pages of a home decor magazine, and, by the age of seven, had already developed his own complex, incomprehensible-to-anyone-but-him, method of arranging his books and notebooks in his personal section of the library. (He’d insisted, stating that the two bookshelves in his room were insufficient for him to properly range his precious collection).

“Shall I call Bessie and ask her to serve tea?” I asked, starting up the stairs, looking back at him expectantly.

“Yes, please,” he replied, smiling in anticipation at the decadent chocolate cake his favourite house-elf would be sure to add to the menu on Draco’s behalf. 

A few minutes later, Draco and I were seated before one of the floor-to-ceiling windows in the second drawing room overlooking the hedge maze, a pot of steaming tea set on the low table between us. 

We rarely went into the main drawing room anymore. 

Bessie arrived just then, carrying a tiered tray laden with sandwiches, scones, and cakes that would have rivalled any offered in all of England. 

“Master Draco, I is making your favourite chocolate cake,” she squeaked, setting the tray down on the table with a flourish and bowing low.

Bessie had always had an affinity for Draco, doting and fawning over him ever since he was a baby. 

Even though her relationship with Draco had clearly overstepped the usual bounds of a house-elf and her future master, I’d decided to turn a blind eye when the two would race down the hallways of the manor, chase butterflies in the gardens, or play games of hide-and-seek that could last hours. 

After all, Draco hadn’t had any playmates his own age, and I hadn’t seen the harm in letting him have fun. 

Of course, I had severely regretted that once Lucius found out. 

By that time, he’d already started his demented slide into a power-hungry obsession, having heard rumours of the Dark Lord’s imminent return. 

Yes, “imminent” turned out to be roughly six or seven years, but Lucius had been determined to show himself a loyal and faithful servant, eyes glittering at the thought of the power and command he would wield as the Dark Lord’s right-hand man. 

The beatings he had inflicted upon Bessie had been amongst the worst I had ever seen, although they hadn’t seemed to diminish her connection to Draco in the slightest. 

The games had stopped immediately, obviously, but she had still found ways to brighten Draco’s day, the chocolate cake, being a constant favourite. 

“Thank you, Bessie,” Draco replied, selecting a sandwich and smiling down at the positively beaming house-elf. “I can’t wait. It’s been far too long.” 

Bessie stood for a moment, round eyes blinking up at Draco shyly, clearly not wanting to leave quite yet. 

“How have you been, Bessie?” Draco asked, taking a bite of the sandwich and leaning down towards her, resting his elbows on his knees so that they were nearly eye-to-eye. 

“Oh! I has been very good, Master Draco,” she replied earnestly, twisting her hands into her little dress. 

“I is still coming to your flat every week to tidy up,” she added importantly. 

Nevermind that house-elves had been, technically, freed years ago. 

Most of ours had chosen to stay, and I thanked Merlin the liberation hadn’t happened whilst Lucius had still been master of this estate. 

I couldn’t imagine the upkeep without their help, honestly, and had secretly enjoyed laying out the plain, but well-made, dresses, pants, and shirts for them at Draco’s behest. 

He had instructed me to do so a few weeks prior to the actual liberation, and though he hadn’t been able to explain why, I suspected his job had alerted him to the upcoming decree and he had wanted to be sure the elves working at Malfoy Manor knew they’d had the choice. 

“And I appreciate it greatly,” Draco was saying to Bessie who was still beaming up at him.

“Master Draco,” she said, taking an eager step towards him, eyes widening even further. “You is having a fr…”

Bessie paused then and glanced at me cautiously, as though realising she might be giving away a secret of Draco’s.

“Go on, Bessie,” I encouraged gently. 

“Mum is well aware,” I added, winking at Draco as I sipped my tea. 

“You is having a _friend_ , sir!” Bessie finished, giving an excited little hop. 

“I _do_ have a friend,” Draco conceded, laughing as he chewed on another sandwich. 

“What gave it away?”

“Sir, he is leaving his shirts _everywhere_!” Bessie sounded almost as though she were scolding both Draco and his “friend,” and I couldn’t hide the laugh that bubbled up out of my throat. 

Draco managed to look a bit abashed at this.

“Yes, erm… he does… tend to leave them all over the place,” he admitted, rubbing at the back of his neck and smiling down at Bessie ruefully. 

“I is putting them away for him,” she continued importantly. “I is putting them in Master Draco’s second sock drawer, where there is space.” 

Draco seemed to find this bit of information amusing, and he looked as though he had just found an important missing piece to a puzzle. 

“Right, of course,” he repeated. “Second sock drawer… I’ll be sure to tell him to look there next time he has trouble finding them.” 

I had a sudden curiosity as to how many of Harry’s shirts were now residing in Draco’s second sock drawer. 

Also, a sudden curiosity as to why my son owned that many socks. 

“The cake!” Bessie squealed suddenly and vanished with a loud pop, leaving Draco and I alone again.

“Second sock drawer?” I questioned, raising an eyebrow. 

“One for dress socks and one for other socks,” he replied, as though stating the obvious. 

Rather than delve further into trying to understand yet another one of my son’s finicky idiosyncrasies, I decided to broach the topic that had been on my mind all day.

I glanced at Draco as I raised my saucer and took another sip of tea. 

He was chewing on a scone and staring thoughtfully out the window and I took his momentary distraction to inspect him more closely. 

He was wearing the same light grey suit from this morning, paired with a pale blue shirt, both of which were clearly meant to accentuate his unique eye-colour. (A true Slytherin, my boy had never shied away from playing up his assets)

And although he’d skipped the tie and left the top button of his shirt undone, his hair, which he’d left uncharacteristically tousled this morning, was now combed and styled into its usual perfect pompadour, and I couldn’t help giving him a knowing smirk.

“You fixed your hair,” I remarked as Draco set the remainder of his scone down on his plate and picked up his own saucer. 

“I didn’t exactly have a lot of time to get ready this morning,” he replied primly, taking a sip, eyes flicking over to me for a brief second before returning to the scenery outside. 

“Poor Harry was on the verge of hyperventilating when he had to go off and talk to you on his own,” he added.

“Yes,” I agreed. “He was rather flustered when he first walked in. 

“That’s why I thought it best to talk about little Teddy. I know he absolutely adores the boy, and with it being his first week at Hogwarts…” 

There was another brief pause, during which Draco continued to stare out the window and I set my saucer down to select an egg salad sandwich on pumpernickel from the tray. 

“How long have you two been dating?” I asked. 

Draco frowned, still staring out the window.

“Actually, I’m not sure we’ve been on a proper date,” he mused. 

“Well, that’s fine, and I certainly don’t need details,” I chided gently. “But you know what I mean.” 

Draco snapped out of his thoughts and finally lifted his gaze to me, a faint look of surprise flitting across his features before he relaxed into an easy smile.

“No,” he corrected. “I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant… just… realised that I probably ought to take him out sometime.” 

“Probably,” I agreed, raising my brows, adding demanding proper dates from time to time to the list of topics I wished to speak about with Harry.

Because I would, obviously, be speaking with Harry. 

“So?” I asked again.

“Oh, I don’t know, Mum,” he sighed, frowning again. “It’s been all sort of weird and complicated.” 

“I can’t imagine why.” 

Draco paused to glare at me as he grabbed a raspberry-lemon cake from the tray and took a bite. 

“What is it you’re trying to get at?” he asked, as always, cutting to the point. 

“I’m not trying to get at anything,” I replied, my temper flaring slightly.

“It’s just that when one is suddenly, and startingly, alerted to the fact that one’s son has a new partner who just happens to be both the Saviour of the Wizarding World _and_ his schoolboy crush, it can sometimes stir up a sentiment called ‘motherhood,’ wherein said mother merely wishes to…”

“Do you want an _apology_?” Draco interrupted incredulously, sitting up and leaning forward, eyes flashing as his own temper rose to meet mine. 

“Don’t be ridiculous, Draco. Of course, I don’t want an apology.”

Draco’s mouth opened, about to make another heated retort, undoubtedly crafted to raise my ire even more, when Bessie popped back, an enormous chocolate cake in her hands. 

“Master Draco, is you ready for your cake?” she asked, holding the cake up towards him, and I could see all the anger practically melt from his face. 

“Yes, Bessie,” he leaned back down towards her. “I’m quite ready for a slice of your famous chocolate cake.” 

Bessie happily served Draco a, frankly, enormous slice of cake, then offered a somewhat more normal-sliced one for me. 

“Mmm,” Draco was sighing, already savouring a bite of Bessie’s decadent cake. 

“Thank you, Bessie,” he told her earnestly. “It’s spectacular, as always.” 

Draco chewed for a moment, then turned back to the house-elf and I decided it was time for me to indulge in my own slice of cake. 

“Bessie.” 

Draco was speaking around another mouthful of cake, something which I, normally, would have admonished, but decided to overlook for the moment. 

“Do you think you could make me a treacle tart sometime?” 

He paused, and smiled to himself, then turned his attention back to the elf. 

“Rather, could you make one for my friend? He adores treacle.” 

“Oh! Yes! Master Draco, I could! Just tell Bessie and she will make it right away!”

“You have no idea how much he’ll appreciate it,” Draco continued, taking another small bite of the cake and smiling once more, whether over the cake or the thought of Harry’s future treacle tart, I couldn’t say. 

“Oh, not to worry, Master Draco. I is making his treacle tart perfectly!” 

Bessie reached out to take the now cooled pot of tea and glanced up at both of us questioningly, her second hand reaching for the tiered tray. 

“You may take it, Bessie,” I reassured her, knowing Draco was just as finished with tea as I was. 

Bessie took the tea tray and, with a beaming smile up at each of us, she disappeared once more. 

“Draco,” I began, almost immediately, hoping his brief spike in anger had cooled as much as mine had during Bessie’s auspicious interruption. 

“I apologise for losing my temper just now,” I frowned, choosing my next words carefully. 

Draco continued to eat his cake, staring at me icily, and I was torn between a sudden, simultaneous desire to strangle him and burst out laughing, knowing full well where my son had learnt this particular skill of eviscerating someone with his eyes, although, I had to admit, in this particular instance, the pupil had nearly surpassed the master. 

“I have no ulterior motive. I don’t want to know more than you’re willing to share. I only…” 

I paused again and set my half-eaten cake down on the table, turning my gaze back to my son. 

“I don’t think I can explain,” I began again, looking him directly in the eye. 

“The completely staggering love a mother has for her child.… I honestly don’t know where to begin. 

“Yes, I want to know all the gushy details of how happy you are. I want to know your story… how you got to know each other, the ‘edited-for-Mum’ version, of course.”

I allowed myself a smirk in Draco’s direction and felt relief as the glacial coldness in Draco’s eyes began to thaw and he allowed himself a brief abashed chuckle and shifted his gaze to stare out at the hedge maze again. 

“At the same time, I have a mother’s fear that perhaps you’re rushing into this, no matter whether it’s true or not. 

“Or if you even care what I think on the matter,” I added quickly, holding up a hand as Draco straightened in his seat and his eyes narrowed ominously once more. 

“I also fear for what will happen when the Prophet learns of your relationship, knowing full well that the stupid, bloody public knows far too much about the both of your upbringings and histories than they have any right to, and worry that neither of you has given the least bit of thought to what you will do, for yourselves, for each other, and for your relationship, when that situation arises. 

“I’m also, as a mum should be, ecstatic.” 

I paused and smiled at Draco, reaching out to grasp one of his hands in mine. 

“I don’t know that I’ve seen two people more taken with one another in my entire life, and I’m so happy for you, darling. 

“ It’s difficult, being a mum,” I laughed, even as tears welled in my eyes. 

Happy tears, because my Draco was in love.

Sad tears, because would he have, maybe, found it earlier had I stood up to Lucius and demanded a better world for my child? 

“All those feelings, and still more,” I sighed, releasing his hand and turning my head to look out at the hedge maze myself. 

“I just want to hear about your happiness and, whether you like it or not, offer my bits of advice, knowing full well you’ll probably decide to ignore them.” 

Draco was staring at me, eyes riveted, and he swallowed visibly.

“Well, what advice would you have, then?” 

I glanced down at my hands, neatly folded in my lap, and began to speak, still cautious, of course.

“Draco, that Harry is mad for you is obvious to anyone with fully functioning vision.”

I shifted my gaze up to him briefly and offered a small smile. 

“Those ridiculous eyes of his don’t leave anything to the imagination.” 

“What’s your point?” he asked, lifting the fingers and thumb of his left hand to rub at his eyes tiredly. 

“That’s my point precisely,” I replied. “Harry wears his heart on his sleeve.” 

“Or in his eyes, I should say,” I paused to glance upwards in thought. 

“How is this advice?” Draco asked, frowning. 

“So, Harry struggles to hide his emotions,” he shrugged and crossed his legs, adjusting his jacket sleeves once more. 

“I’m well aware.” 

“He seems the sort that would give all of himself, in any and all of his relationships,” I frowned, searching for the correct words. 

“And that he would expect nothing less in return.”

Draco’s eyes flared, and he uncrossed his legs as he leant forward. 

“Are you implying that I… that I… don’t give him all of me?” he fumbled and frowned, eyes glancing off to the side as he thought, before snapping back to meet mine. 

“I don’t even know what that _means_.” 

“Precisely,” I agreed, earning another glare and eye-roll from my son, although he relaxed back into his chair, crossing his legs, propping his elbow up on the chair’s arm and cradling his chin in his palm. 

The eyes were, once again, boring holes through me, and I allowed myself a brief chuckle. 

“Draco, darling, you have a tendency to compartmentalise,” I informed him. 

His scowl deepened.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” he all but growled out. 

I raised an eyebrow and fixed him with my best mum look, reminding Draco exactly who had patented and trademarked his preferred icy stare. 

“Sorry,” he muttered sullenly. 

“Would you please explain what it is you mean by compartmentalising?” he tried again, raising a brow in return and adopting the fully-clipped, haughty accent he’d grown up hearing living at the Manor.

The years away at Hogwarts coupled with a few years overseas had relaxed his accent slightly, Draco now leaning more towards the modern accent many of his generation were opting for, and I knew that now he only cranked his polished voice on sarcastically.

“Draco,” I warned, tilting my head and increasing the intensity of my gaze. 

“Mum,” he groaned, all his façade and bravado dropping as he gave me a pleading stare. 

“This is precisely what I mean,” I informed him, gesturing at him, a fond smile replacing my mum stare. 

“There are so many Dracos,” I continued, seeing his confusion and frustration rise in response to my vague response. 

“And I apologise, as I’m partly to blame,” I frowned. 

“Growing up in this house, with your father, and…” 

I sighed and gestured around at the cold grandeur surrounding us. 

“You had to learn how to behave in so many different situations, and not just the way most do. 

“I realise everyone, to some degree, behaves differently in different social circles, but you had to learn it to a much higher level, and with much higher stakes, than the average child.”

Draco frowned and chewed at his lip pensively. 

“Go on,” he encouraged. 

“As a result, you’ve taught yourself to compartmentalise nearly every aspect of your life; each facet gets a different Draco.”

I paused again and smiled affectionately at him.

“I am, in no way, implying that you have multiple personalities or anything of the sort,” I assured him before he could think to protest. 

“But, I think you see what I mean?” 

He didn’t quite meet my gaze but nodded. 

“In many ways, I know this ability has helped you. It would be impossible to have your level of Occlumency and Legilimency skills without it.”

He snorted and smirked up at me.

“Potter’s absolute rubbish at it,” he confided. 

I quirked my mouth a bit and shrugged, looking at Draco as if to say ‘well, obviously’ and Draco laughed. 

“So I say again, darling,” I reached out and took his hand in mine again. 

“Harry will expect all of you,” I paused and squeezed his hand. “The _real_ you.” 

“I still don’t really know what that means,” he confessed, eyes flickering up to mine nervously.

“I don’t think you’ve ever really had a chance to be the whole, real you with someone before,” I sighed.

“I’m the real me with people,” he argued, tugging his hand away and reclining in his seat once more. “You. And Pansy. And Blaise.” 

I smiled at him tenderly. 

“I have a suspicion the sort of relationship you’re in with Harry will require a different sort of intensity.” 

Draco started, eyes snapping to me, realisation dawning on his features. 

“Oh…” he murmured quietly, eyes shifting downwards and flicking left and right as he mused over this in his head. 

“Don’t overthink it,” I advised. 

Because, Merlin, did Draco overthink things, and I could practically see the gears turning in his pretty little head. 

He blinked up at me, then frowned, clearly returning to his overthinking brain, gears not having stopped. 

“I’m not telling you to go running home and begin baring all your soul to the man this instant,” I assured him, reaching out to lift his chin and demand his attention. 

“That would be horribly weird and awkward,” I continued. “For the both of you.”

He calmed somewhat and nodded again. 

“I just mean, try to keep this little conversation tucked away in one of your brain’s many little compartments, and, when you feel exposed and the need to shut part of you off, don’t pull away. 

“You know he’ll be just as open and vulnerable with you. 

“And, to wrap back to what started this talk, he _will_ expect the same of you.” 

Draco pondered all this for a moment, then smiled up at me.

“Thanks, Mum,” he said gratefully. “I’ll try remembering all that.” 

“Yes, and with all that sorted, I want to hear your story now. The ‘Mum version.’ Tell me.” 

Draco frowned for a moment then glanced up at me sheepishly. 

“Erm…” he rubbed at the back of his neck and offered me a crooked grin. 

“It’s been quite non-Mum-version centric until fairly recently…” 

“How… recently?” 

“Like… maybe a week… or two?” 

He stared studiously out the window, lips pressed together nervously. 

I snorted and shook my head at him, an exasperated smile appearing on my face despite my annoyance. 

“Work on the Mum-version for next time, will you?” 

“Of course,” he acquiesced immediately, voice just a tad higher than usual, gaze still fixed unerringly on the hedge maze outside. 

“Speaking of next time, when are you coming for dinner?” I asked, changing the subject slightly. “Be sure to bring Harry with you.”

Draco finally tore his gaze away from the window and smiled at me.

“Of course.” 

“That way you can _both_ tell me your story,” I added, winking at him as he stood, brushing his trousers off, then held his arms out to me. 

“Thanks for the tea,” he said, stepping towards me and hugging me as I stood. 

“And for the advice,” he added. 

“That’s what mums are for,” I replied, stepping away so that he could Apparate home. 

Dinner with my son and Harry could not come soon enough. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. I know there are real albino peacocks, but I liked the idea of Lucius using a charm and having Draco reverse it, so made the executive decision that they were normal peacocks, lol. 
> 
> 2\. I really need to redo the summary because, well, this story has evolved waaaay past where I envisioned it going when I decided to write this fic. And I don't want to. Obviously not asking for anyone to write it for me, but if any of you feel led to drop "highlights" or a word or two about what sticks out to you that would probably help me tons. 
> 
> 3\. As always, I love your comments!


	27. I Saw a god, (I thought)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We finally get another visit from our insane, anonymous rambler and find out more about his obsession.

_Wednesday Evening  
09 September 2009  
Anonymous  
_  
“ _Sitting in my window,  
Pointing my thoughts in lawn, I saw a god,  
(I thought, but it was you,) enter our gates;  
My blood flew out and back again, as fast  
As I had prest it forth, and sucked it in,  
Like breath_ _;_ _”_

_Love at First Sight - from_ _Philaster_ _by Beaumont & Fletcher_

I entered my apartment in a rage, hurling my coat onto the floor and sweeping my arm along the small dining table, taking no satisfaction in the mess I created by doing so. 

Two weeks.

Two mutherfucking goddamn weeks. 

I threw up a silencing charm and screamed, not knowing what else to do to release my fury and stormed into the bathroom, bracing my hands on the sides of the sink and staring at my glamored face in the mirror. 

It was perfection: golden-blond hair cut in an impeccable textured French crop that just begged him to run his hands through, light blue eyes that crinkled perfectly around the corners when I smiled or laughed, a lusciously kissable mouth, because if you were going to make a fucking glamor to lure the man of your dreams, why not pay extra attention to your mouth? 

A slim build that wasn’t too tall or small, perfectly formed and muscled, not that I didn’t keep my real physique in top shape. 

Of course, I'd also added an extra inch or so to my package because, again, who wouldn’t. (And if you say you wouldn’t, you’re a liar.)

I looked his type; I was sure of it.

I had studied his little Boston boy toy too closely not to.

No, don’t worry… I didn’t turn myself into a fucking clone of the guy. 

I’m not an idiot. 

I’d been so young and naïve then, fresh out of Auror training. 

Top of my class, too, even though I’d been a year younger than everyone else. 

I still remember the first time I’d laid eyes on him. 

I’d heard of him, of course, but he could’ve been an absolute nobody and I still would've stopped in my tracks. 

I’d been leaning over the railing that looked down on the main lobby of the Boston branch of the MACUSA and my breath had literally stopped. 

It felt like all the blood had drained from my body and all I could do was stare, mouth open, before my brain told my heart to get a move on, and I’d thought it was gonna pound straight out of my chest, it began thumping and racing so hard and so fast.

And still, all I could do was stare.

“What’s he doing here?” I whispered to my partner, Clyde. 

He shrugged.

“Sent him over from England,” he replied in his thick Boston accent. “He’s gonna be working here for a few months. No one knows why or what for. No one who’s talking, anyways.” 

I’d spent the rest of the day scheming up ways to run into him. 

The perfect introduction. 

I’d manage to say something witty. 

He’d laugh. 

We’d chat. 

I’d offer to show him around Boston. 

Course, I'd had no idea whether or not he even liked boys then. 

But a guy could hope, couldn't he? 

Just my fucking luck, I did meet him. 

That very day. 

Just not when I’d been expecting it, and so instead of my perfect introduction, I’d stammered out:

“Oh, it’s you! Um… hi,” when I’d been fumbling for the keys to my apartment and he’d come waltzing out of the door of the apartment next door. 

He’d smiled in bemusement at me then stuck out his hand and introduced himself. 

I’d been so flustered, so completely caught off guard, but had stupidly decided to offer to show him around the neighborhood and maybe stop for a beer.

Then that _girl_ had come out of the apartment, all smiling, and hugging, and touching, and I’d tried to keep my face from falling because clearly he wasn’t gay.

He’d thanked me and said he’d take a rain check since he and the “Boss Lady” (he’d grinned down at her affectionately while calling her this, and I’d nearly cried at how fucking unfair it was) had plans for the evening.

And so I’d gone the next few weeks trying to forget about him, which _should_ have been easy enough. 

He and his “Boss Lady” were quiet as mice; I might as well not have had any neighbors. 

I’d hoped I would run into him at work, just to look at, but nothing on that front as well. 

And then I’d heard them. 

Not a sound for weeks, and then, one weekend, there I was, relaxing on my futon, watching Will & Grace, when I’d heard a groan followed by the unmistakable, repeated thud of a bedframe against the shared paper-thin wall between our apartments. 

No. 

No fucking way was this happening. 

And fuck MACUSA for putting us up in these cheap-ass apartments with shitty walls. 

I’d been about to turn up the sound to drown it out when I’d realized that he wasn’t fucking _her._

The moans coming through the wall had been definitely male. 

From both parties. 

Holy fuck. 

He was in the closet. 

I hadn’t been able to distinguish his voice at this time, so I’d been unable to tell which of the groans, grunts, and cries of pleasure were his, but I’d known damn well one of them was him. 

Of course, over the course of the next few months, I’d learned very well which voice was his. 

_Christ_ , he’d been such a goddamn slut. 

A new guy every weekend, it’d seemed. 

Sometimes even during the week, and I’d had to wonder if he’d given any thought at all to where his bed was placed in the studio he was occupying.

Then again, given my love life at the time, it wasn’t as though there’d been any chance of him hearing me and realizing that the walls were so thin. 

And I certainly hadn’t been about to pound on the wall or ask for him to _stop_ , even though the weekends had honestly turned into pure torture for me. 

If anything, his weekend trysts had only renewed my desire to strike up a conversation and work up the courage to ask him out again, but, aside from the occasional glimpse across the lobby of MACUSA, I never saw him. 

And then he’d met _Ben._

Stupid. Idiotic. Fucking. Simpering. Ben. 

I’d hated Ben the moment I’d first heard the asshole groan his name in that brass, awful Southie accent, and I’d consoled myself with the fact that he rarely seemed to bring the same guy back twice. 

But clearly he’d seen something in Ben that I never could, because a few nights later, Ben was back.

And then again. 

And again.

And again.

And then he was _always_ there, his brassy Southie accent clashing with his English one, making it so goddamn easy to tell their voices apart. 

It’d been torture.

Listening to them fuck.

And listening to them talk. 

And laugh. 

And be fucking adorable.

The worst was when they would decide to cook. 

They would sing along to the radio and tease each other over who was worse in the kitchen, and it would almost always end in them making out or fucking or _something_ on the kitchen counters until one of them would snap back to reality and screech something along the lines of:

“Oh shit! It’s burning!” followed by a flurry of the two of them trying to salvage the meal, which, sometimes, they did. 

When they didn’t, I would hear the doorbell ring a little while later as the delivery guy would rescue them from their most recent culinary disaster. 

Six months of this. 

And every time I happened to cross his path, mostly in passing in the hallway of our building, I would, inevitably stammer and be awkward.

And he would smile that same bemused smile, reply politely, and continue on his way. 

Because that was clearly all I was. 

His neighbor. 

Someone he saw in passing, from time to time. 

I’d tried so hard.

So when I’d learned that he’d returned to England, I’d been devastated. 

I tried to forget about him.

Honestly, I did. 

But he was _impossible_ to forget.

So, after putting in a few hard years’ work and the opportunity to transfer to London arose, I'd jumped at the chance.

Quietly, of course.

By that time, I’d already had the beginnings of my potion and charm in the back of my mind. 

At that point, I’d had no idea how or when I would be able to make it or use it. 

But I knew, even then, he’d be goddamned worth it. 

I’d arrived in London, glamor created, looking forward to a new start. 

And now I was so goddamn close. 

I stared at my face in the mirror and allowed the glamor to drop, watching my real features gradually take over my perfectly made-up self, and, with another scream, hexed the mirror so that it shattered to a million pieces. 

Two weeks and nothing.

Clearly I had some work to do. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a short chapter, so I churned it out and posted it pretty quickly. 
> 
> Eww. He creeps me out even just writing him and I think I like to just get it over with. hahaha


	28. The First Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Much as the title suggests, Draco takes Harry out on their first date.

_Sunday Morning_

_20 September 2009_

_Draco’s POV_

I set down my comb and stared at my reflection in the mirror, ignoring its appreciative comments and shut my eyes.

Merlin, why was I so nervous? 

It was just a date.

And Harry was my boyfriend and I couldn’t even _count_ the number of times we’d fucked, so how could I even possibly be nervous? 

We’d even navigated our way through not just one but _two_ dinners with Mum at the Manor. 

I smiled as I thought back to when I’d explained to Harry that she was expecting a “Mum-version” of our story. 

_“What?” he’d demanded, green eyes staring up at me as he’d curled around me, snuggling as close as he could, like he always did in his post-coital bliss._

_“Merlin, Draco, what would we even tell her?”_

_“I assume she’ll want to know how we met,” I’d responded, trailing my left hand along his spine, right arm wrapping further under and around him to pull him even closer._

_“We could just tell her the truth. Then we won’t have to remember all the details of a story later.”_

_Harry had groaned and buried his face in my neck._

_“Yeah, sure. That'll go over real well. Oh, gee, Narcissa, I was just looking for massive cock, and, as it so happens your son has one, so it was bloody kismet, see?”_

_I couldn't help but laugh, despite thinking how absolutely mortified I would be if Harry actually had the gall to say that to Mum._

_“I was thinking more along the lines of telling her we met through a dating app…”_

_“She’s still going to wonder why we agreed to meet up, though,” Harry had interjected, hands twining up to play with my hair. “That’s the first thing anyone would ask.”_

_I’d frowned in thought._

_He was right, of course._

_“We could still go with a selective version of the truth,” I’d said slowly, thinking as I spoke, and Harry had eyed me warily._

_“What?” I’d asked, giving him a quick kiss in an attempt to soothe his nerves. “Tell her the app pairs you anonymously with other users based on personality profiles and preferences and such.”_

_Harry had snorted._

_“Right, she’s going to believe that,” he’d joked. “I was desperately seeking a snarky blond with this unique, smokey, blue-grey eye colour… and I was having rotten luck finding that combination on my own.”_

_“And you were so thrilled when the app led you to me, you decided to put our history aside because you just couldn’t have enough of my beautiful blue eyes,” I’d drawled, batting my lashes down at Harry who giggled._

_“Apparently not,” he’d agreed, doing another one of his kitten-stretches up alongside me._

_“I suppose you’re right, though,” he’d mused. “We should just tell her the truth, but omit the embarrassing details. I’m sure she’ll see through it but I’m also guessing she’s not going to press for those details, either._ ” 

Thankfully for the both of us, Mum had seemed quite taken with our story of a modern-day blind “date” (although, as Harry had predicted, she had raised a questioning brow when we’d called it a date and had refrained from asking any details as to what had happened on that first date), that had turned into a modern-day fling, and, was now well on its way to becoming something much more.

Which brought me back to today. 

I’d planned an actual date for us, having told Harry to block his next day off for me to take him out on a proper date. 

And, I suppose, partly to make up how late this first date was, and partly because I couldn’t do anything in moderation, I’d gone and planned an entire day, beginning with a picnic in the park, and ending, if we made it that far, with a nightcap at my favourite champagne bar. 

I’d told Harry to arrive at my flat around eleven, and a quick Tempus told me that it was now 10:50. 

I gave myself one last glance in the mirror, taking in my navy slacks, white t-shirt, and light blue cotton blazer. I loved that it was made out of almost a hoodie-like material, making it snuggly and comfortable without looking like an actual hoodie. 

I couldn’t help but grin as I made my way towards the reception, remembering my conversation with Harry regarding dress for our “date day.”

_“Harry, I said_ _casual_ _,” I’d sighed, rubbing at my eyes as he’d asked one more time if jeans, a jumper, and trainers would be ok._

_“I know,” he’d replied. “But your idea of casual is quite different from mine.”_

_He’d let his eyes trail over me, taking in my trousers and button-down, then looked down at his own jumper and jeans._

_“And you want me to bring two outfits.”_

_I’d rolled my eyes._

_“You don’t need to,” I'd assured him. “It’s just I wanted to spend the morning in the park and then take you out for dinner later, so if you wanted to bring something to change into, you could.”_

_I’d paused then grinned._

_“I’m not even planning on wearing a suit once the entire day if that helps.”_

I entered the reception to find Harry already there, lounging on the sofa, looking, for all the world, as though he belonged there. 

Which, I supposed, if I were being honest, he did. 

“Hullo,” I greeted him, sitting beside him and twisting down for a quick kiss.

“Mmm,” he replied, returning the kiss eagerly. “Morning.” 

Merlin, he looked positively snog-able, dressed in tan chinos and a dark-green jumper. The wide plaid pattern of a maroon, dark-green, and white button-down peeked out from above the collar and he’d rolled the sleeves casually up his forearms using them to hold the sleeves of his jumper at his elbows, ready to pull down should he need extra warmth. 

“Ready?” he asked sitting upright, bending his left knee so that it rested in my lap as he leant forward for another lingering kiss. 

“Mmm, yes, let’s go,” I agreed, rising before I got any naughty ideas of lingering with Harry on the sofa, divesting him of his clothing, and having my wicked way with him, date day be damned. 

A few minutes later, after shrinking the picnic Bessie had packed, Harry and I were on our way. 

“Where are we going?” he asked excitedly as we exited the flat and made our way to the lift. 

“I thought we’d go pedal-boating on the Serpentine and have a picnic in the park,” I replied, grinning. “Bessie packed us a picnic to enjoy after we’ve worked up our appetites. Sound good?”

I patted at my trouser pocket to ensure the picnic basket Bessie had painstakingly filled with both our favourites was definitely there.

“Absolutely,” Harry grinned back. 

We crossed the street and continued the short distance along the Louisa Duckworth walk making our way to the little wooden boathouse along the banks of the Serpentine and a few minutes later, Harry and I were comfortably seated in one of the pedalos, pedalling happily towards the centre of the lake. 

When I was sure we were far enough from shore and away from prying eyes, I reached a hand into my pocket and withdrew two shrunken water bottles, both filled with a mimosa mixture and cast with a cooling charm to ensure they stayed nice and chilled.

“Here,” I offered, handing him an un-shrunken bottle. 

“Orange juice?” Harry asked, taking the proffered bottle and taking a sip.

“Honestly, Potter,” I chided, leaning towards him to kiss him just above the ear. “I hope you’d expect me to treat you better than that….” 

“Draco!” he gasped, having taken a large sip of the drink and laughing. “Are we allowed to have alcohol out here?” 

I shrugged.

Good question, honestly. 

“I don’t know,” I replied. “Good thing we’ve only got water, then, hmm?” 

I held up my bottle which now looked as though it was filled with water, and Harry frowned down at his, which looked identical to my own.

“It’s such hard work, pedalling around the Serpentine,” I sighed, reclining in my seat and laying the back of my hand against my forehead. “We simply must both have our water bottles with us….” 

“You’re brilliant,” he informed me, absolutely beaming as he took another smaller sip of his drink. 

We spent the next forty minutes or so pedalling around the lake, sipping our “water,” and people-watching.

Harry, at one point, had grinned over at me and then smirked over at another pedalo near us.

I’d nearly spit out my mouthful of mimosa as the pedalo began moving in a sort of lazy circle. 

Not enough to worry them, mind, but enough so that they noticed and tried pedalling in all sorts of manners to get their boat moving correctly. 

“Ready for a bite?” I asked once our hour was nearly up, steering our boat back towards the boathouse. 

“Always,” Harry replied.

A short while later, I had our picnic blanket out on the lawn overlooking the Serpentine, Harry leaning deliciously against me, despite there being ample room on the blanket for us both. 

“What are we eating?” he asked eagerly as I began unpacking the basket, having surreptitiously glanced around to be sure no one was paying us any attention before unshrinking it. 

“Bessie packed us some cheese and charcuterie and a baguette,” I replied, unpacking the small cutting board, knife, and carefully wrapped platter with Dubliner Cheddar, triple-cream Brie, and Mozzarella with saucisson-sec, prosciutto, cornichons, and a few small dabs of chutneys to accompany it all. 

Harry’s eyes widened, and he reached out a hand to grab at a slice of prosciutto.

“Then there’s some roast chicken and crudités with bagna cauda, because Bessie will insist we eat our vegetables,” I continued, unpacking those as well. 

“And, you’ll be sure to want to save some room for the miniature treacle tarts she packed, I’m sure.” 

Potter was almost cross-eyed and drooling in anticipation, and I couldn’t help leaning down to kiss him soundly on the mouth as I unpacked the bottles of still and sparkling water that rounded out our meal. 

I flashbacked to planning for our first dinner with Mum and smiled to myself.

_“What does Harry like to eat?” Mum had asked. “What are some of his favourite dishes?”_

_It had struck me at that moment that I had quite a bit to learn about my boyfriend._

_“I don’t know.”_

_I’d thought for a minute._

_“He likes fish and chips,” I’d responded after a moment, remembering how Harry had once tried to bring me dinner._

_The look on Mum’s face could have murdered actual dragons._

_“Draco,” she’d snapped. “We are not inviting Harry over to the Manor to serve him fish and chips.”_

_I’d managed a small, guilty smile that she chose not to acknowledge._

_“Perhaps, the next time he comes over, before adding another one of his shirts to your prolific sock drawer, you could ask him what sorts of real food he enjoys eating?”_

_“Mum, honestly,” I’d sighed. “He’s not picky. I’m willing to bet when I ask him he’ll say anything. But I do know he loves treacle tart. Make sure that’s on the menu.”_

Bessie, of course, had made an absolutely sublime treacle when Harry had come over for dinner and I had made a point of cataloguing Harry’s reaction when she’d floated the gigantic tart out, serving him an absolutely absurdly large slice, and the way his eyes slid shut in complete bliss when he’d tasted his first bite.

I nearly laughed when I pulled out the “miniature” tarts. 

Clearly, I hadn’t been the only one to notice Harry’s appreciation for Bessie’s treacle tart. 

Of the two packed, one was, indeed, miniature, and clearly meant for me. 

The other was… well… it wasn’t _quite_ an entire full-sized treacle tart but was damn near close.

Bessie’s sloppy, all-capitals handwriting also indicated that this monstrous “miniature” was for Harry, just in case there had been any doubt. 

“I think this one’s for you,” I told Harry, holding up the treacle in question and Harry made to take it from my hands.

“No, sir,” I insisted, holding it just out of his reach. “You’ll need to eat some proper food, first.” 

Harry scowled at me but grabbed some more of the charcuterie and tore himself a piece of baguette and began to eat, still leaning against me. 

Harry, I was learning, was quite fond of eating while leaning against me.

What had been more of a surprise was that I, apparently, didn’t mind.

Had anyone ever told me that at some point in my life I’d not only be okay with a bloke all but using me as his chair back, but that I’d actually enjoy it… well. 

That person would be conveniently regretting having spoken in some other realm at this point. 

Our picnic continued, both of us munching happily, the conversation following the mundane and lazy as we chewed. 

Later, as Harry impressively licked the last of his treacle tart from his spoon, sighing happily beside me, he grinned up at me.

“You grew up with Bessie making you food and feeding you chocolate cake all the time? How are you not, like, a thousand kilos?”

“A thousand kilos?” I demanded incredulously. What would that even look like? 

“Merlin, Potter, I’d be dead.”

Still, I couldn't resist leaning in to kiss him and decided I quite liked the combination of treacle and Harry. 

“Mmm,” I hummed. “Harry and treacle… my new favourite.” 

He laughed, still kissing me, twisting his body towards me so that he could deepen the kiss. 

“So is this the part where you take me back to yours?” 

I mean… it hadn’t been. 

But my mind could definitely be changed.

“Is that what you want?” I asked, still kissing, wondering when, exactly, Harry had come to be seated in my lap, my hands running all along his back, and I vaguely wondered if there were rules about snogging and propriety so close to the Queen's bloody backyard. 

“I want,” Harry replied, this little post-picnic snog of ours really turning into quite the make-out session, “to do whatever it is that you’ve planned for us.” 

Reluctantly I pulled away from Harry and gently eased him from my lap. 

“Well, the plan didn’t involve taking you back to mine quite yet,” I admitted sullenly, cursing myself for not having had the foresight to see that I’d most certainly have wanted to have my way with Harry by now. 

Harry seemed to understand my disappointment because he was grinning up at me, those damned eyes of his laughing at me silently. 

“Well, what _did_ the plan involve?”

“A walk through the park to work up our appetite again,” I replied, beginning to pack up our picnic. 

“Again?” Harry echoed, helping me pack. 

“Mm-hmm,” I nodded, closing the picnic basket and glancing around before shrinking it. 

“For Tipsy Tea.” 

“Tipsy Tea?” Harry’s eyes were sparkling, and he looked just as excited as I was at the prospect of a boozy afternoon tea. 

“Malfoy, are you trying to get me drunk?” 

I nodded and leaned down to kiss him again. 

“Yes,” I admitted. “Because the plan is to take you back to mine _after_ tea so that I can have my wicked way with you.” 

“What have you got planned that you need to get me tipsy, first?” Harry joked, although he did look a bit wary, and I had to snigger to myself at that. 

A sexual act so deviant that I’d have to get Potter drunk first? 

Merlin, I was going to have to think about that for a bit. 

“I don’t have anything planned,” I assured him as we stood and set off along one of the park's many walkways. 

“Aside from tumbling with you naked into bed and sort of seeing what happens next, anyway.” 

Harry grinned and slid his hand into my own as we continued our walk. 

“Have you received any owls from Teddy?” he asked suddenly and I shook my head. 

“Why? Are you worried?” 

“No,” he shook his head. “I assume it means he’s getting on well. If there were a problem, I'm sure Hagrid or McGonagall would've told me.” 

I nodded.

“I know Aunt Andromeda's been sending him loads of sweets from Honeydukes.”

“He’s spoilt rotten, isn’t he?” Harry mused, smiling fondly. 

“He deserves it.” 

“I’ve been trying to decide if I ought to give him the invisibility cloak for Christmas,” Harry confided, grinning up at me sheepishly, and I stopped dead in my tracks. 

“The _what_?” 

“The invisibility cloak,” Potter repeated, turning back to face me and I just about hexed him right there. 

“You have an invisibility cloak?” I demanded, still not moving to close the gap between us and Potter’s face finally showed that he’d registered my upset. 

“Erm… yeah,” he admitted sheepishly. “Did… you not know that?” 

“How the fuck would I have possibly known that?”

I saw Harry gulp visibly, and I shook my head and began walking again. 

“I'm so bloody pissed at you right now, Potter,” I informed him, scowling petulantly as we fell in step beside each other once more.

“Are you really?” Harry asked after a few moments, eyes darting up at me nervously.

“Yes!” I cried, throwing my hands up in exasperation. “No! I don’t know!”

I stopped and frowned down at him. 

“I mean, fifteen-year-old me is bloody seething but… twenty-nine-year-old me is massively impressed.” 

Harry couldn’t stop the smug grin from spreading across his face. 

“Explains how I got away with so much, doesn’t it?” he asked. 

“That’s not what I’m angry about,” I informed him, yanking his hand back to tangle my fingers with his once more. 

“It’s not?”

“No.” I scowled again. 

“Have you any idea how much better my teenaged wanking fantasies would’ve been if I’d have known to throw a bloody invisibility cloak into the mix?” 

Harry nearly doubled over with laughter and had to stop to clutch at his sides. 

“ _That’s_ what you’re angry about?” 

“Of course,” I replied, glaring at him. “You were Saint Potter. You didn’t need the stupid cloak to get away with sneaking about the castle.” 

Harry just glanced up at me out of the corner of his eyes, a mischievous grin on his face, as we began walking once more.

“So… what sort of naughty kinks does that cloak add for you, hmm?” 

I stared back down at him, incredulous.

“Are you kidding me?” I asked. “You could’ve snuck into my dorm, surprised me in the hallway, dragged me into one of the thousands of nooks. Merlin, you could have fit us _both_ under that damned thing and we could’ve done whatever we wanted, whenever we bloody wanted…” 

“I could still do that,” he informed me, smirking. “Sneak into your office….” 

“Don’t be ridiculous, Harry,” I drawled, rolling my eyes at him. “You know where I work.” 

“I could get in,” he replied, smug as could be. “They’d let me in.” 

I was nearly halfway to drooling over the thought of Harry surprising me at work with an invisible blowjob beneath my desk when a thought caused me to sober instantly.

“Don’t,” I instructed, clutching his hand just a tad more tightly in my own. 

“Hermione’s desk faces mine.” 

This, for some reason, only made Harry laugh harder. 

“Don’t tempt me,” he giggled. “I’d be invisible. Hermione be damned.” 

“I swear to Merlin, Potter,” I growled. “You even _think_ about subjecting me to a secret blowjob with Granger seated just across from me and I promise you, I will bend your sweet little arse over the railing overlooking the entry hall at the Manor and eat you out until you’re screaming so loudly you won’t even _care_ that Mum and Bessie and all the other elves are down below watching.” 

Harry stopped and turned to face me, eyes wide.

“You wouldn’t.” 

“Oh, already have done,” I assured him, tugging at his hand to keep him walking. “Only it was Father, not Mum, looking on because he didn’t want to believe I was actually bent.” 

“You’re mad,” he informed me, eyes still wide and too green, gazing up at me as we continued walking. 

“Mmm,” I agreed, wrapping his arm around my waist and tucking his hand under my opposite arm. “So don’t tempt me.” 

“What did that bloke do?” he asked, frowning. 

“What do you mean?” I asked back, not quite understanding the question.

“I mean, what did he say to having been bent over the bannister of Malfoy Manor, looking down at your father while you… while you… erm… you know?” 

I started laughing again; I couldn’t help it. 

“He kept crying out ‘ _More’_ and ‘ _Please_ ’ and ‘ _Yes_ , _Draco_ ,’ and continued to shove his arse back up against my face, as any bloke having his arse eaten out properly should,” I replied, shutting my eyes briefly, the thought of Harry in the same position positively wreaking havoc on me. 

“I suppose I got off easy, just being fucked in the drawing room before dinner,” he muttered, shaking his head but leaning into me so I knew he wasn’t actually upset. 

“ _Draco, what are you doing?” Harry had asked as I pressed him up against the wall of the summer drawing room, one hand already reaching to caress Harry’s hardening length through his trousers._

_“We can’t,” he’d gasped, mouth working to kiss back despite his words, hands clutching at my shoulders, although he’d seemed to be caught in a battle between pushing me away and pulling me closer._

_“Seriously, Draco,” Harry had mumbled, hips still pressing into my palm as I ran my other hand up his back, hand pulling gently at the hair at the nape of his neck to arch him further into me._

_“You’re not going to fuck me in the manor just before we have dinner with your mum,” he’d managed to breathe out between kisses._

“ _Then you should work on not looking so damned_ _fuckable_ _all the time,” I’d replied, tightening my grip in his hair and angling his head so that I could kiss him even more deeply._

_“We’ve already been through this,” I’d explained, still kissing at Harry’s mouth between phrases._

_“The very first time we met. You’re a damned tease and I can’t help it if I fall prey to your wiles.”_

_“But I told you,” he’d protested helplessly. “I’m not teasing.”_

_“Mmm, but you are. You do,” I had insisted, mouth travelling to kiss and suck along his neck._

_“Maybe you don’t realise, but your eyes,” I’d lifted my head to glare at him accusingly._

_“I’ve already told you all about your eyes,” I’d sighed, leaning back down to continue kissing him._

_“And this mouth of yours,” I’d added licking into his mouth and all but swallowing his groan._

_“Just begging to be loved and kissed and used. Not even sure if you prefer I plunder it with my mouth or with my cock.”_

_Harry had just groaned and pulled me closer, kissing me even harder._

_Next second, I had found myself with my trousers vanished and Harry’s mouth wrapping longingly around the tip of my cock, and I’d closed my eyes, groaning and threading my hands through his silky hair as I’d given in to the sweet suction of his mouth._

Of course, Mum had known immediately what we’d been up to as soon as we’d sat down, and I’d never been more acutely aware of just how wrecked and properly shagged Harry always managed to look for hours after, well… after he’d been properly shagged. 

I gave a shake of my head to clear my thoughts as we continued our walk around the park and checked my watch to see that it was nearly two pm. 

“Time to head to Tipsy Tea,” I informed Harry, angling him towards the nearest exit of the park. “We have a reservation for two-thirty.” 

“Why do you keep calling it tipsy tea?” he asked. 

“It’s actually called Tipsy Tea,” I replied. “Mr Fogg’s Tipsy Tea.” 

“And they just serve a tea where they try to get you drunk?”

“Mm-hmm,” I replied. “It’s lovely, actually. Beautiful location, solid tea service. Just so happens their teas are all alcoholic.” 

A short twenty-minute walk through Mayfair brought us to Mr Fogg’s Residence, where Harry and I were quickly seated at one of the smart tables surrounding the dark brown, round leather couch in the centre of the room. 

Even though there were three other chairs sat round our little tea table for Harry to choose from, he sat next to me on the leather couch, which was just barely large enough for both of us. 

Not that I minded, obviously. 

I picked up one of the menus and held it up so Harry and I could both look at the boozy teas on offer.

“I’m having the ‘To Pour Around Four,’” I informed him. 

It was a concoction of Hendrick’s gin, rose liqueur, jasmine syrup, pomegranate juice, fresh lemon juice, and raspberry purée all topped with Veuve Cliquot. 

“Okay,” he agreed, eyes flicking down to where my bottomless tea choice sat on the menu. 

“Do you have a preference between the Tropical Tincture or the Drunken Duchess?” 

The first consisted of green tea infused well through with passion fruit, mango, and vodka, then mixed with Aperol, lavender & orange syrup, and topped off with passion fruit and lime juice.

The second took a mixture of vodka, blackberry liqueur, cranberry juice, lemon bitters, sugar syrup, and a dash of lemon juice all rounded out with champagne.

“I’d imagine they’re both wonderful,” I conceded, studying the two descriptions on the menu. “But maybe go with the Tropical Tincture. We can share, and mine is already lemony.” 

A short while later, we were still comfortably nestled together with two pots of boozy tea and Mr Fogg’s signature half-birdcage tray of tea-time treats set on the table before us.

“How did you find this place?” Harry asked, chewing on a mini brioche stuffed with salmon, soft cheese, and arugula. “It’s bloody top.” 

“A friend,” I replied and nibbled at a ham sandwich with piccalilli and rocket on brown bread. 

“A friend, hmm?” he asked, grabbing a spinach wrap and smirking up at me and I couldn’t help but roll my eyes affectionately. 

“He might’ve been a bit more than a friend,” I admitted, taking another bite of my sandwich and glancing down at Harry nervously. 

“Is that a huge first-date faux pas?” I asked. 

Now it was Harry’s turn to roll his eyes at me.

“There have been other men in your life _before_ me?” he asked, mock horror etched on his face as he turned to stare up at me. 

“And here I am, the epitome of piety and innocence, having practically saved myself for you,” he added, turning to face forward and tilting his teacup full of boozy tea to his lips so demurely that I burst out laughing and nearly sprayed my own sip of tea all over the table. 

“Harry,” I was still chuckling and wiping at my eyes. “Merlin, I’m not sure the words piety or innocence are even allowed to be mentioned in the same sentence as you….”

“Have you had a lot of boyfriends, though?” he asked, glancing up at me again, the apprehension in his eyes very real this time. “I mean, you know, like actual relationships?” 

“A few,” I answered with a shrug, thinking to myself that someone as prone to snuggling and wearing his heart in his eyes as Harry had probably had several of his own. 

Harry’s face fell a little, and I frowned down at him speculatively. 

“Why?” I asked carefully, taking another sip of tea. “Does that surprise you?” 

He shrugged and snuggled a little more closely into my side as picked up one of the gooey chocolate caramel brownies and I braced myself for the onslaught of moans that would soon be spilling from Harry’s lips. 

“A little,” he admitted taking a bite. 

To be fair, most people were surprised to learn that I did curiously well with romantic relationships. 

“I’m complete rubbish at them,” Harry confided, his voice suddenly very small as he nibbled at the remainder of his brownie. 

“Oh?” I took another, admittedly, larger sip of my tea then refilled my teacup from the pot. “Why do you say that?” 

He shrugged as he refilled his teacup and took a sip, thinking for a bit. 

“I guess I sort of tend to avoid intimacy,” he said finally, cradling his teacup with both hands, still leaning against me. 

“I mean, not, you know, physically, obviously,” he clarified, grinning up at me suddenly, clearly having no clue the havoc his words were wreaking on me. 

What the bloody hell did that mean?

Was Harry only looking for a good time? 

“So… emotionally then?” I ventured, taking another gulp of tea and mentally re-planning the rest our date day accordingly. 

He nodded, still snuggling into me like an oblivious fool and part of me really wanted to pull away from him and stop playing adorable couple for the time being. 

“Yeah,” he sighed and grabbed a cucumber sandwich. “I guess at some point I just started pulling away whenever things started getting serious.” 

Harry paused and chewed thoughtfully.

“Honestly, the past couple of years, I’ve even given up on getting that far… mainly been slutting it up.” 

This was, you realise, not the most promising thing to hear from your boyfriend of only a few weeks. 

Even more so from your boyfriend of a few weeks that you’d had a thing for since you were teenagers. 

“What about you?” he was asking. “How do you do it?” 

How did I do it? 

What the fuck was Harry even asking now? 

“Do what?” I frowned, trying to keep my face as neutral as possible. 

“Get close to a bloke and, you know, be in a relationship, all the while knowing you’re keeping the most important part of yourself from them,” he explained, shrugging. “You don’t feel bad about it?” 

Harry pulled away and twisted to look up at me.

“I’m assuming you only date muggles, too. I mean, the Prophet would jump all over the news that you’re gay just as much as they would me.” 

“Erm… yeah,” I replied. “Not to mention not many wizards were interested in me after the war.” 

“Didn’t you feel like you were living a double life? Like you were lying all the time?” he asked, and I realised that Harry’s issue with intimacy had nothing to do with actually being emotionally available and invested in another person. 

It was the opposite; sweet Harry felt bad that he had to lie about being what he was with his muggle significant others. 

Suddenly I remembered Mum’s little lecture on compartmentalising and it made a lot more sense. 

“Have you ever told someone?” he asked. 

Ugh. 

That was, to be honest, the nightmare about dating muggles.

Eventually, you got to a point in the relationship where you either had to make the life-altering decision of telling them that you were a wizard or ending it. 

“Once,” I replied. 

And it had been a fucking disaster and not something I felt ready to fully open up about quite yet. 

“I never have. The few blokes I dated where I maybe thought I should, I would just start hyperventilating and freak out and then eventually I just started making sure I’d get out and move on before I got too emotionally attached.” 

He paused and glanced up at me again.

“How’d you do it?” he asked curiously.

“Oh, you know, the usual,” I managed. “Sat him down, told him we needed to talk, and blurted it out.” 

I shut my eyes, remembering the disaster that had been. 

“I’m guessing that didn’t go over so well?” Harry speculated, taking in my expression. 

“No. It didn’t.” 

Thankfully, Harry seemed to take the hint and mumbled a quick “Oh,” before downing another gulp of his tea. 

“Let’s not talk about other boys right now,” I suggested, pulling Harry back towards me and bending down to plant a kiss just behind his ear. 

“There’s a reason things never worked out with any of them, and that means we get to be here, _together_ , _now_ , enjoying the booziest tea in all of London,” I continued, reaching for Harry’s teapot and filling his cup.

“And besides,” I added, plucking the second chocolate caramel brownie from the tray and bringing it to his mouth. “You’ve another caramel brownie to eat.” 

“That’s yours,” Harry reminded me, although he continued to eye the brownie hungrily.

“Trust me, I’d much rather watch you enjoy it,” I assured him, smiling to myself as Harry acquiesced and leant forward to take a bite, making sure to brush my fingers lightly with his lips as he did so.

Bastard. 

“Mmm,” he groaned, mouth returning to lick at a stray crumb balanced on the tip of my thumb, and just like that, all thoughts of past relationships and any other blokes flew from my mind, and, probably also partly in thanks to the tipsy tea, my brain’s sole focus became getting Harry back to my flat and into my bed. 

“Harry,” I murmured in his ear, watching as his eyes slid shut and his mouth gently plucked the remainder of the brownie from my hand. 

“Hmm?” he asked, eyes fluttering open to send me a positively lustful half-lidded stare. 

“Do you remember what I told you I’d planned next on our date?” I asked nuzzling his neck then tracing along the curve of his ear with the tip of my nose. 

“Tumbling naked into bed,” he replied immediately, turning his head to capture my mouth briefly with his own. “And seeing what happens next.” 

A short while later, Harry was nestled against me, sated and sleepy, in the steamy, scented bath we’d drawn following our mid-date tumble into bed.

“Hmm,” Harry hummed happily. “Do we have time for a nap?”

“Of course,” I replied, just as sleepy, arms wrapping around him and lazily standing us to get out of the tub.

“A nap was definitely part of the plan.”

“You’re going to spoil me,” he informed me as I floated a towel from the heating rack over and wrapped him in its fluffy softness.

Well, obviously, I thought to myself. 

That was the point of having a boyfriend, wasn’t it?

“It’s not spoiling if you deserve it,” was all I said aloud as I wrapped myself in my own warm towel and guided us both back to the bedroom.

“What are we doing after we nap?”

“Watching the sunset and then dinner,” I replied as we fell into bed and my arms automatically reached out to wrap around Harry and pull him close.

I set an alarm for 17h30 and was asleep almost immediately.   
  


  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do realise that this chapter ends "mid-date," but the chapter was getting rather long and I decided to tell the second half from another POV.


	29. Psychotic Seethings and a Smitten Kitten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The second half of Harry and Draco's date, with a (very) creepy cameo by our (very) not-friend followed by Harry's take of the second half of their day.

_Sunday Evening_

_20 September 2009_

_Anonymous_

Why am I doing this? 

No!

Why are _you_ doingthis? 

Because this is _you_. 

_You’re_ the one making me do this, seething, pacing the goddamn park after having just witnessed that disgusting display of adorable you and he put on all afternoon. 

_He’s_ not the one who hit you with the spell, you moron — I want to yell at you and scream at him and demand why _I’m_ the one watching you instead of _having_ you because the app has been on your goddamn phone for weeks now and I _know_ it works because it’s been tested and tweaked and perfected and all those other motherfuckers who’ve purchased the app are falling in love meanwhile I’m here, watching as you emerge from the building looking so infuriatingly blissed out and happy and I want to fucking puke, all over that assholes shoes, preferably, watching as you keep looking at each other, smiling and laughing and it’s watching you with _Ben_ all over again and _why_ is he _touching_ you right now, because you should be _mine_ so why are you _letting_ him touch you and did he just _kiss_ you, because I’ve already seen enough of that today. 

I’m being careful to follow at a distance, a Tracking charm making sure I don’t lose you as we cut through both Green and St. James parks and continue along Birdcage Walk, passing under the illuminated shadow of Big Ben where now _you_ turn and kiss _him_ like neither of you can go a whole goddamn ten minutes without being attached at the lips and now I’m seeing _red_ because how is the app not working and how am I still nothing and how do you still act like I don’t even exist when you were looking _right at me_ when the app went into your phone and activated but still, somehow, the two of you have to pause and kiss no fewer than five times in the five fucking minutes it takes to cross Westminster Bridge, and I don’t even have to guess where you’re headed because it’s nearing sunset and that giant monstrosity they call the London Fucking Eye is looming up ahead and of _course_ you need to keep throwing in my face how smitten the two of you are by watching the sun set over the fucking Thames from the top of the fucking wheel where I just know you’ll both waste the view and the effort with your kissing and staring into each other's eyes because I know that’s what _I_ would fucking do in his position and it’s just not _fair_ because this is supposed to be _me,_ you’re supposed to be with _me_ and….

I pause to take a few deep breaths. 

No use getting overly upset and calling attention to myself. 

I hunker up to the railing overlooking the river, joining other Londoners and tourists alike gathered for an early evening stroll, and pull out a pack of crumpled cigarettes. 

I need to think. 

To figure out what the fuck is going on here. 

Because something is going on, and I’m going to figure it out.

I’ve been waiting for you for too long. 

***

_Sunday Evening_

_20 September 2009_

_Harry’s POV_

“I can see your flat,” I informed Draco, leaning back against him and looking out at London sprawled out before us in the golden light of the sunset. 

“No, you can’t,” he snorted, arms coming round to wrap in front of me as he rested his chin on my head. “It’s much too far away to make out.” 

“Well, I can see the park, and your flat’s right alongside it, ergo, I can see your flat,” I retorted, placing my hands over his and clasping them to me. 

“If you say so,” he acquiesced, tilting his head to kiss the top of my head. 

“I’ve never done this,” I murmured. “Have you?” I tilted my head up to look at him.

“No,” he replied, leaning down just a tad more to brush my mouth briefly with his own. 

“I wouldn’t have pegged you for a sunset-from-the-London-Eye sort,” I admitted, turning to face him.

I wrapped my arms around his neck and grinned up at him, wondering how Draco had come to select this particular date-night activity.

Not that I minded, of course. 

I was absolutely the sunset-from-the-London-Eye sort. 

“I wanted to watch the sunset, and this is the closest good-sunset spot to where dinner is,” he explained, leaning down as I rose on my tip-toes to rub his nose gently with mine. 

And if that didn’t sound exactly like something Draco would do. 

I was willing to bet that he’d actually plotted the walking distances between various sunset locations and restaurants he liked on Google maps until he found the perfect combination. 

“And it seemed like something you’d enjoy,” he added, eyes flicking away from mine, looking, to any onlookers, as though he were watching the scenery, but I recognised the mechanism from our very first breakfast together.

Draco was nervous. 

“I love it,” I assured him, urging his head back down for another brief kiss. 

We stayed like that for a moment, foreheads pressed together, just grinning stupidly at each other.

“Excuse me,” a voice sounded somewhere to my left. 

“ _Excuse me,_ ” it snapped again, impatiently, and I straightened and glanced over in its general direction.

Draco, I noted, did the same. 

A woman was standing there, scowling at us. 

“There are _children_ here,” she frowned at us, nodding down to, what I assumed were, her two daughters flanking her, one hand clasped tightly around one of each of their own. 

The older of the two, I noted, looked positively mortified.

“I-I…” I managed to stammer before Draco’s icy drawl cut me off. 

“Your point being?” 

“That you shouldn’t be engaging in such a lewd display in public when there are children present,” she huffed, raising her chin and fixing Draco with what, presumably, she thought, was an imperious stare.

Clearly, she had no idea who she was dealing with. 

“If you call that a lewd display, then I can’t help but wonder how you managed to procreate and engender not only one, but two, children,” Draco replied without batting an eye, his accent, I noted, definitely going full-throttle. 

The woman gasped and stammered at him in shock, clutching her children closer to her.

“If a couple sharing a romantic moment at sunset, at one of London’s top-rated romantic attractions, I should add, bothers you might I suggest you turn yourself in that direction,” Draco gestured at the giant glass panes of the capsule just behind her, “and enjoy the view there.” 

“You don’t need to be rude,” she snapped, not willing to give up quite yet. “I’m just trying to enjoy my vacation with my family without subjecting them to…”

“We’re done here,” Draco interrupted, turning his attention back to me, tilting his head back down to kiss the tip of my nose. “I’ve much more important things to focus on.” 

I could hear the woman still sputtering and stammering angrily but I followed Draco’s lead and ignored her.

He was right. 

Enjoying my evening with Draco was much more important than letting some silly lady with her feathers all ruffled ruin part of our date. 

“So… where is dinner?” I asked, about fifteen minutes later, as we exited our capsule, Draco giving a jaunty wave and overly-sweet smile to our “friend” that we’d made onboard as we did so. 

“I’m starving,” I added.

“You’re always starving,” he reminded me, twining his fingers through mine and lifting my hand to his mouth to brush my knuckles with a kiss. 

“We’ve got about a twenty-minute walk… think you’ll make it?” 

“Twenty minutes,” I sighed dramatically, lifting my palm to my forehead and literally turning and falling onto Draco, knowing that he’d catch me.

“I might _starve_ by then.” 

“Silly,” Draco chided, righting me and setting us on our way again. 

We continued, skirting around Waterloo Station, our conversation turning to life after the war and what Draco had done to occupy himself while awaiting the trials. 

“I spent the next couple of years in Paris. I needed to get away from everything for a bit,” he explained. 

I nodded and briefly wished I’d had somewhere foreign to run off to. 

“The wizarding community in Paris was definitely more forgiving of my last name than here, but I started exploring Muggle Paris, anyway. 

“I don’t know, I think it was just nice to forget about even being a wizard for a bit…” 

“I’ve never been to Paris,” I sighed. 

“Really? Wasn’t the Quidditch Cup held in France a few years ago?” 

I nodded.

“Yeah, but we just Portkeyed straight to the stadium a few days before it started so we could train,” I replied. 

“Actually, I never really get to see much of anything outside of the pitch when I get to travel for Quidditch. Ron and Hermione both keep telling me to take a real holiday and travel, but I keep putting it off.” 

Here, Draco paused and spun me to look at him.

“I’m going to make sure we change that,” he promised, eyes sparkling with anticipation, and I wondered how many wonderful places Draco had visited in his privileged life. 

“What’s your favourite place? That you’ve visited, I mean,” I clarified. 

Draco thought for a minute. 

“Barcelona,” he replied finally. “Or Hawaii.” 

I frowned.

“Those seem like two very different places, to me.”

“They are,” he agreed, nodding.

“We’re here, by the way,” he added, indicating a small restaurant just to our left with a grey awning stretched over a cosy, secluded outdoor terrace reading “The Laughing Gravy.” 

A short while later, we were seated at an intimate table in the corner of the terrace, the muted lamps casting a warm, romantic glow over the tables. 

Draco cast a quick Muffliato charm and continued our conversation. 

“Barcelona is just a wonderful city to get lost in, wander about, look at the architecture. And the _food…”  
_

Draco shut his eyes as he thought about it and I had half a mind to Apparate us to Barcelona that instant. 

“You can’t Apparate that far,” Draco scoffed when I told him that, and I smirked. 

“Sure, I can.” 

“Fuck Merlin, Potter, is there anything you _can’t_ do?” he growled, crossing his arms and pretending to be upset.

“I’ll let you know when I think of something.” 

Our server arrived then and Draco ordered a bottle of wine, smirking back at me, silently reminding me that ordering a proper bottle of wine from the list was something that I could definitely not do. 

When the server asked if we’d like to order something to start with, I admit, I panicked a little as I hadn’t even glanced at my menu yet; I shouldn’t have bothered, as Draco had that entirely under control as well. 

He’d just ordered the Scotch egg, then grinned back over at me.

“And, I’m not sure my date’s had a chance to look at the menu, but I have a feeling he’d enjoy the treacle-cured seared tuna…” 

“Treacle?” I asked, perking up immediately, and both the server and Draco couldn’t help but chuckle. 

“Erm… I mean, yes, please,” I amended smiling up at our server with a sneaking suspicion that this particular menu item had helped Draco determine where we were eating dinner tonight.

“Such a slut for treacle,” he admonished, eyes darkening slightly as he winked at me. 

“Guilty as charged.” I didn’t see the point in even trying to argue that. 

“So… what did you like about Hawaii?”

I couldn’t even imagine visiting somewhere so idyllic. 

Draco stared at me for a moment.

“Are you high, Potter?” he demanded. “What on earth do you mean, what did I _like_ about Hawaii?”

“No,” I groaned, rolling my eyes. “You know what I mean… like, what stood out? Aside from the obvious beaches and gorgeous scenery.” 

“Honestly, the food, and a wizarding history that is absolutely fascinating.” 

“Really? There are wizards in Hawaii?” 

“Harry, love, there are wizards everywhere,” he reminded me. 

“Now, knowing how long you take to read a menu, I suggest you start looking at yours.” 

He was right, of course.

Everything looked incredible, and I was already in proper panic mode.

“What are you having?” I asked, knowing that Draco had already decided. 

“Why do you lot always do that?” he asked, a bemused smile flitting across his features. 

“Do what? And who are we ‘lot’?” I demanded. 

“You people who can’t decide what to order,” he clarified, rolling his eyes. 

“How is knowing what I’m ordering going to help you decide anything?”

“It means I can eliminate that dish because I can just try a bite of yours,” I replied, eyes glancing back down to my menu.

“Oh, you can, can you?” Draco retorted good-naturedly. 

“Sure,” I returned smugly. “You’ll let me have a bite.” 

“The rabbit pappardelle ragout,” he sighed, tossing his menu onto the table, all but admitting defeat.

“Is it wrong to just order the burger?” I wondered aloud.

Draco was staring back at me, confused.

“Why would it be wrong to order a burger?” he asked. “It’s on the menu.” 

“I don’t know,” I shrugged. 

“Maybe it’s too casual or something? I would imagine your mum would absolutely not approve of ordering a burger at dinner.” 

Draco looked as though he were trying not to burst out laughing.

“Merlin, Potter,” he giggled. “What, do you see my mum here or something?” 

He glanced around suspiciously, as though expecting to see Narcissa herself raising an eyebrow in disdain from a table across the small terrace. 

“Okay, well, then. I’m ordering the burger,” I decided. “With the bacon, _and_ the fried mushrooms and onions.” 

“Excellent,” Draco praised. 

“You might as well go all out and ask them to sub the truffle chips for the plain ones.” 

“Can I?” 

“Yes, Harry,” he answered. “You may.” 

Draco had that expression on his face again.

Like he wanted to laugh but also like he thought I was adorable and I glared at him to let him know exactly what I thought about him looking at me like that. 

The server returned then to take our order for the main course, as well as serve our starters and bottle of wine and our conversation diminished a tad as we began to eat. 

“Would you like to try a bite?” Draco asked, holding a forkful of his Scotch egg slightly towards me.

I nodded eagerly and Draco leaned forward, bringing the forkful delicately to my mouth, his free hand cupped beneath it should any of it fall en route.

I slid my eyes shut as my lips wrapped around the bite, the crunch of the crumb mingling wonderfully with the silky, buttery creaminess of the yolk and the briny flavour of the meat wrapped round the egg. 

“Mmm,” I sighed. “That’s damned good. It tastes fishy…”

“I mean,” I amended quickly. “Like, ocean, not gross-fishy.” 

“I knew what you meant,” Draco chuckled. “They wrap it in a minced scallop and crayfish puree instead of sausage. I was hesitant the first time I ordered it, but the chef _must_ be a wizard or something because it is bloody magical.

“How are you liking yours?” 

“It’s delicious,” I told him, smiling around another bite, appreciating the way my teeth sank through the spicy-sweet almost candy-like crust before meeting the smooth, sweet taste of the seared fish below. 

“The tuna is candied in the treacle… it’s crazy good. Want to try?” 

I followed Draco’s example and guided a forkful of the caramelised fish to his mouth, watching as he gingerly took the bite from my fork and chewed thoughtfully.

“That is amazingly good,” he agreed, still chewing. “The flavours and the textures.”

“Try the fritter that comes with,” I insisted, holding up another forkful of the seaweed and onion fritter dipped in the accompanying tzatziki, and I’ll admit that it was just as much to watch Draco’s gorgeous mouth gently pull the bite from my fork as it was for him to have a complete taste of my dish. 

A little later, our starters having been cleared away, our mains arrived at the table, along with another bottle of wine, because Draco insisted that the dry, crisp Riesling we’d been enjoying didn’t match our main courses at all. 

Truth be told, the lush cab Draco had selected complimented my decadent burger perfectly, but I sure wasn’t going to admit that to him or anything. 

“What’d you do after Paris?” I asked curiously. 

“Came home to help Mum at the manor for a bit,” he shrugged, expertly twirling a ribbon of pasta round his fork and bringing it to his mouth without it unravelling and forcing him to slurp it up because of _course,_ Draco could even eat pasta elegantly. 

“Father was still on house arrest awaiting sentencing and was driving her mad and I’d just been named Lord Malfoy, so there was mountains of paperwork to go over…”

“And boys to bend over the banister to prove you were gay,” I teased. 

Draco snorted around his sip of wine, clearly struggling to hold it in.

“And _so_ many boys to bend over the banister,” he agreed, eyes glinting with laughter. 

“Did you really bugger them all over the banister?” I asked incredulously. 

“No, Potter,” he retorted, rolling his eyes. “I’m not boring. I have an imagination, thank you… though we did rarely make it to the bedroom…”

“Where _is_ your room in that giant place?” I asked, frowning and realising that I had no idea where Draco’s bedroom even was in the manor.

“Upstairs,” he replied unhelpfully, swirling his wine glass. 

I gave him a pointed stare and he continued.

“Upstairs, second floor… to the right… second door on your left… overlooking the gardens,” he sing-songed, clearly thinking it entirely unnecessary that he explain to me where his bedroom was. 

“I’d like to see it next time,” I told him truthfully, and not just because I wanted to make sure I wasn’t carelessly thrown over a banister or up against a drawing room wall next time we visited the manor. 

“Maybe,” he answered noncommittally. 

“One’s bedroom is very private,” he added, hand sneaking out to nab one of my chips. 

“What, are you afraid I’m going to stumble upon your Hogwarts-era wank stash featuring me?” I taunted. 

“You wish,” he chuckled, although he didn’t exactly deny its existence. 

“You’ve probably got all the figurines and paraphernalia the Magpies have put out over the years decorating your shelves and walls,” I continued, leering at him. 

Because, Merlin, had the Magpies put out a lot of merchandise over the years. 

“Please, Potter,” Draco frowned. “I already told you, I’m not _boring_ ….” 

“What about you?” he asked suddenly. 

“We’ve been talking about me all night. What did _you_ do after the war?”

“I… married Ginny,” I replied. “And you already know how that went.” 

“Oh, come on, Harry,” he coaxed, pouring us each more wine. 

“There’s more to your life than that. Quit holding out on me.

“What did you do before you became an international Quidditch star?” 

“Okay, so… erm... Ginny and I were married and awkward for a couple of years. 

“I was an Auror because that’s what everyone expected me to do…”

“Right,” he nodded, twirling more pasta onto his fork. “I remember that. You didn’t even have to go through training or anything.”

“I’d just killed Voldemort,” I shrugged. “They offered to take Ron then, too, but he decided to opt for the full training.” 

“Did you like it? Being an Auror?”

I took a sip of wine and made a face.

“No, I hated it.” 

“So… you were married to someone you didn’t want to be married to, working a job you didn’t want to be working at…” Draco trailed off and gazed at me above the rim of his wineglass as he took a sip. 

“ _Why_?” 

I shrugged. 

“Because you were Saint Potter, and that’s what everyone expected?” he suggested, and I bristled a little at him calling me that. 

“I’m not a saint,” I muttered, taking another bite of my burger. 

“Not anymore,” Draco agreed, eyes trailing slowly over me and I blushed a little because I’m sure anyone who might have seen Draco’s face at that moment would have had no doubt what sort of thoughts he was entertaining. 

“Get your mind out of the gutter,” I chided, shaking my head. 

“Anyway, Gin and I were married and awkwardly trying to be in love or whatever, but that came to a screeching halt pretty quickly, and then we were just… I dunno… together? Then we finally came out to each other…” 

“Who started that conversation?” Draco wondered aloud. 

“Guess,” I retorted, smirking.

“My bet’s whole-heartedly on Ginevra,” he answered immediately, not even the least bit chagrinned. 

“Mr I-don’t-like-to-talk-about-feelings,” he added pointedly, taking another sip of wine.

“It’s just… awkward, and _hard_ ,” I complained, smiling up at him sheepishly.

“Astute, as always, darling,” he observed. 

“So that’s when you separated?” 

I nodded. 

“Sort of,” I agreed. 

“She had an offer to be an assistant professor at Ilvermorny for a bit and I decided to go with and do some work with the Boston Auror Department. 

“We figured we could sort of, I dunno, be ourselves there without everyone knowing our business. 

“We announced our split when we returned and I began playing for the Magpies.   
She was offered a full-time position at Ilvermorny the next year, so it worked out well. The media surmised that our split was mainly due to us living so far apart.” 

I shrugged and glanced up at Draco to see what he thought of my story.

“Blimey, you were in Boston, too?” he asked, grinning. “When?”

“Erm… 2002? Why?”

“I lived in Boston for a bit as well,” he replied. “But I was there a year later.” 

“Why were you in Boston?” I asked.

Draco paused, his signature, pleased little smile curving at his mouth.

“Can’t say,” he reminded me, lifting his wineglass to take a sip. 

“Too bad our stays didn’t overlap. We might have started having fun then,” I mused.

“Maybe,” he agreed, and I couldn’t help but sense a twinge of sadness in his gaze then. 

Our server returned to clear our plates and enquire about dessert before I could ask him more about his time in Boston.

“If you’ve got room, I’m certain the salted caramel and sticky toffee sponge would go down well with you,” he teased me, grinning.

“Yes,” I replied, perking up and nodding immediately. “I’ll take that one.” 

Both Draco and the server sniggered again.

“Harry, love,” Draco sighed fondly. “You know you’ve got a problem when someone who’s only known you a few hours is well aware of it.” 

“Not admitting it,” I replied with a firm shake of my head.

“No?” 

He shared another mirthful look with our server.

“No. That’s the first step towards rehabilitation,” I explained, and Draco and our server burst out laughing. 

“Quite right.” The server turned to Draco. “And for you?”

“I’ll have the cardamom beignets, please,” he replied. “And a glass of Calvados for him and absinthe for me.” 

“Absinthe?” I echoed as the server went to enter our order. “Are you trying to hallucinate?”

“Don’t be daft, Potter,” Draco drawled. 

“That’s just a myth. And even if it weren’t, it will go so nicely with my dessert, I wouldn’t care.” 

“What did you order for me? I don’t think I’ve even heard of that before.” 

“It’s a brandy from Normandy that's made from apples,” he explained. 

“I thought it’d go nicely with all your caramel.”

It was only a few minutes before I was groaning around a mouthful of decadent caramely-toffee followed by a sharp swirl of the apple-scented brandy. 

“I admit defeat,” I informed Draco, who had just bitten into one his beignets dipped in a luscious-looking mint cream. 

“Hmm?” he asked, carefully pulling the remaining half of the puffy, powdery pillow away from him so as not to spill any of it on himself. 

“I admit defeat,” I repeated. “I definitely need to learn more about this pairing food with alcohol business.” 

Draco gifted me with a genuinely happy smile as he finished chewing and took a sip of his own drink.

“I’d be happy to help,” he replied earnestly.

“It’s going to take many more dates,” I warned him, taking another bite of my dessert. 

“Very many,” he agreed, nodding, eyes darkening slightly, and I realised I’d been moaning around my mouthful again. 

“You know,” I said, pretending to think aloud. 

“If you were nice, and decided to share a bite of your dessert with me, you know, just in the interest of learning more about food pairings, I might serve you up your favourite dessert back home.” 

Draco didn’t say a word, but next second I found his half-eaten dessert placed neatly before me, giving me all the answer I needed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... I realised that I haven't really been checking to see if any of the places I'm mentioning in London even existed in 2009 when the story takes place.  
> Most of them definitely do not... because that was a looooonnnng time ago.  
> But, it's my story, and I honestly have no idea what restaurants & establishments were around in London in 2009, much less which ones our boys would visit, and that I could write about in the kind of detail I want to include, so I'm taking "artistic liberties" and maybe using a little "magic" to have them exist back then, lol.  
> Honestly, don't think most of you mind or would be fact-checking dates, but just in case?


	30. Bliss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry pauses, mid-row, to reflect on his past month with Draco.

_Saturday Afternoon_

_10 October 2009_

_Harry’s POV_

“Draco, you fucking _arsehole_. I’m going to fucking AK you into the next bloody universe when I get my hands on you,” I fumed as I furiously paced the reception, finger jabbing at my mobile to ring up Hermione. 

The bastard had cast a seriously high-level Anti-Disapparation charm on me before he’d Disapparated himself, eyes blazing in fury, completely ignoring my cries for him to wait a second and to calm the fuck down. 

Still, I had to admit, living with Draco was mostly heavenly, to say the least.

As it turned out, Draco was, perhaps, the most attentive, doting boyfriend to have ever graced the face of this earth. 

I no longer had any need for an alarm, seeing as he almost always woke before I did and took it upon himself to wake me with any number of extraordinarily sweet ways.

Often times, it was the somewhat standard, yet never-boring, slide out of sleep to find one’s morning glory being attended to. 

Once, he had me waking to my favourite song being played repeatedly. 

Softly, at first, then gradually louder. 

Still another had a fresh bunch of flowers, picked from our neighbour’s garden (the one we hated, it should be noted), trailing up and down my body. 

Most days, Draco had to leave for work long before I needed to be at the pitch, and I would usually find a note — a classic mix of gooey sweet and sass that made Draco… Draco. 

_“_ _My Dearest Harry_ (and I could just see the sardonic roll of the eyes and smirk while he wrote that),

_I miss you already…._

… _no, really._

_I really will by the time you manage to get your lazy arse up out of bed and moving around._

_Kisses,_

_Draco_

I loved every second of it. 

And I retaliated by spoiling him in my own fashion. 

I wrote my own notes—letters, actually, when I went out of town for Quidditch. 

Since Draco loved word scrambles, puzzles, and was a confessed Sudoku addict, (seriously, how the man hadn’t been sorted into Ravenclaw astounded me sometimes) I would often cut up said letters so that he would have to unscramble them to read them.

My favourite had been when I’d had the mind to cut out every word that could be construed as naughty and sent those with one owl. 

The rest of the letter I had sent separately, a few days later.

It was so blissful, for a while, that take-away cartons freely littered our table, usually abandoned halfway through the meal when a schmoopy kiss turned into a more heated kiss, which usually turned into something else entirely. 

This, however, came to an end fairly quickly. 

Just as long as it took for Draco to blow a fuse over the number of containers dotting the table. 

He was, if you’ll remember, a neat freak.

We learned to make do, forcing ourselves out of the comfort of each other's arms to close the little containers and tuck them into the fridge for the night before tucking ourselves in, and that issue was over almost as soon as it’d started.

This is not to say that our first few weeks together were entirely blissful. 

We bickered. 

A lot. 

I was a slob, and he was a snob; the two didn’t necessarily blend well on many occasions. 

And, of course, we were both always right about everything, which led to some pretty interesting and creative insults being hurled at one another when we had contradictory correct opinions. 

When we went physical and started trying to hex the shit out of each other, we were fairly evenly matched; what lead I might have had over him in sheer power he more than made up for with a frightening ability to fling hexes and curses with alarming speed and accuracy. 

Draco, unsurprisingly, easily won any sort of verbal sparring that took place. 

Once, he’d gotten himself so worked up that he’d gone completely red in the face and had, literally, screamed:

“Just shut the fuck up and admit you’re wrong, you furfuraceous, raggabrash, pediculous rakefire!”

I’d just stared at him, slack-jawed, all anger drained as my brow furrowed over the incomprehensible insult, and had asked him to repeat himself in English.

Draco, in true, huffy-Draco fashion, had only responded by Accioing a giant, ancient dictionary at me and storming off to read on the sofa. 

I’d perused the dictionary until I’d gotten the gist of his put-down and had snuggled up to him on the couch.

“You don’t have to be such a klazomaniac about it,” I’d chided. 

Draco, still slightly worked up, had snorted.

“I’ll talk all in caps lock if I want, Potter.” 

But then he’d wrapped one arm around me and drew me closer, so I figured that we’d made it through another row. 

What had surprised me the most, however, was how bloody normal, and, dare I say it? How _silly_ Draco was. 

He’d been a right twat all through Hogwarts.

His public persona perfectly played up the image of the Slytherin ice prince, his glacial looks only supporting this portrait of him even more. 

However, Draco Malfoy, the _real_ Draco Malfoy, was… a _goofball._

And I fucking adored it. 

I’d first been alerted to Draco’s crazy antics shortly after I’d unofficially moved in. 

I’d been relaxing on the sofa, flipping through the channels, when I’d noticed movement out of the corner of my eye. 

I’d turned to investigate further and had seen Draco “sneaking” up on me, looking, for all I could describe, like a cartoon cat sneaking up on someone — hands held up in a ‘pouncing’ position under his chin, knees and legs working to take high, exaggerated steps, looking every bit the human version of Tom from Tom and Jerry. 

“What are you doing?” I’d asked, frowning at him. 

He’d dropped the act immediately, rolling his eyes.

“I’m sneaking up on you,” he’d drawled, crossing the remainder of the reception and all but pouncing on my lap. 

“Oh,” I’d replied, wrapping my arms around him. “Erm… well, you weren’t doing a very good job…” 

Draco had snorted in disgust. 

“Yes, I was,” he’d countered, staring down at me, a silly grin spreading across his face. 

“You had no idea what I was doing,” he’d pointed out. “You had to _ask_ what I was up to.” 

“…not doing a good job…” he'd muttered, mock-glaring at me as he leaned in to kiss me, pulling me down to lay atop him on the couch. 

Draco was also fond of pulling faces. 

I mean the most ridiculous, contorted faces you could imagine, and the fact that he would pull them out of absolutely nowhere. 

We’d just be sitting at the table, enjoying breakfast, or watching the telly, or reading, and suddenly I would look over to see Draco pulling the most random face and I couldn’t help but burst out laughing.

“Why are you doing that?” I would demand, tears practically streaming down my face I’d be laughing so hard. 

“Because you looked too serious,” he would reply, nonchalantly returning to whatever he’d been doing previously as though he hadn’t just been contorting his face in the most gruesome manner. 

He was also, if you remember, extremely ticklish, and couldn’t seem to wrap his head around the fact that I wasn’t — which resulted in many fevered tickle fights with Draco insisting he could find a ticklish spot on me and would, inevitably, end with him shrieking and begging me to stop so loudly that, had there not been a permanent silencing charm up around the flat, I’m sure the police would have been called to investigate. 

And then there was the singing.

For someone who had grown up in a Muggle-hating household, Draco sure seemed to have a solid knowledge of Muggle music spanning decades and continents. 

He could be found singing along to anything from Bowie to Rihanna, Nirvana and Radiohead to Beyoncé and Outkast, The Beatles, The White Stripes, or Foo Fighters rounded out by a little Rolling Stones, complete with a strut that would have made Jagger himself jealous. 

I’d also been trying to introduce him to hip-hop, which I now regretted, seeing as Draco’s main take away from those lessons had been to take it upon himself sneak up behind me as often as possible and yell:

“My anaconda don’t want none unless you got buns hun!” while pumping his fist in the air then grabbing my arse in his hands, which would have been fine, had he kept it to just ourselves in our flat, and not, say, when we were meeting up for pints with our mates. 

I would catch him belting out “Under Pressure,” complete with vocalised renditions of the iconic bass line, as he stirred, and sautéed, and placed dishes in the oven while preparing dinner. 

He took great joy in secretly serenading our neighbour (the one we hated) with Pulp’s “Common People” whenever he walked by, because, according to Draco, he had unabashedly participated in class tourism while at university and had lived in a crummy studio in the East End in the 80s before cashing in on his inheritance and purchasing the flat here. 

Another time, when I’d been salty and pouting on the sofa because I’d been away for nearly four days, and he _still_ insisted on doing his research before greeting me properly, he’d crooned out “Let’s Get it On,” with an exaggerated gravelly voice and almost comical gyrating of his hips, followed by “I Wanna Sex You Up,” complete with an operatic rendition of the super-high voice the singer sang in that had left me collapsed in giggles, Draco’s “negligence” completely forgiven. 

Cohen’s “Perfect Day” was a perennial favourite, and Draco would sometimes randomly break out into the chorus, seemingly for no reason at all. 

Other times, he would sing it _to_ me, softly, blue-grey eyes holding mine before sliding shut and pulling me close. 

“Just a perfect day… I’m glad I spent it with you… you made me forget myself… thought I was someone else…”

And I would, literally, melt into his arms. 

Other endearing things I was discovering about Draco?

\- Draco ate the food on his plate in order from least favourite to most, so that he would always finish tasting what he liked best.

\- Draco insisted that all doors and closets be closed, as well as all chairs be pushed in, before going to bed. Not doing so all but begged the _wrong_ sorts of ghosts to come visit, he informed me, quite seriously, when I’d asked why. 

\- Draco would, no matter the situation, create elaborate escape plans whenever we went anywhere, for situations running the gamut from the incredibly mundane to the absolutely absurd (Pygmy Puffs planning a revolt and barricading the exit to Diagon Alley, anyone?) 

\- Draco would, in those few precious moments between sleep and wake, slowly rub his elegant, high-arched feet against each other.

But nevermind all that. 

What mattered was that, right now, Draco was furious.

Furious and determined to find my Aunt and Uncle. 

It wasn’t so much that I minded he was upset and wanted to fuck them up on my behalf.

It was more that I didn’t want him to go breaking Wizard law and finding himself in Azkaban, for any length of time, on their behalf. 

I was cursing myself, waiting for his Anti-Disapparation charm to dissipate, wishing I hadn’t been stupid enough to mention the fucking cupboard. 

We’d been talking about our favourite books to read as kids. 

Rather, Draco had been.

Then he’d asked what my favourites had been, and I’d gone and stupidly rattled off a few Muggle favourites, then said:

“Course, I would’ve read bunches more if they’d have fit in my cupboard.” 

Oh. 

That had been a mistake.

“Cupboard?” Draco had asked, frowning, drawing back so he could look me fully in the eye.

“Erm… yeah,” I’d replied, making it a point to look him in the eye. “The cupboard where we kept our books, you know?”

“Bullshit, Harry,” he’d snarled, eyes turning icy almost immediately. “What did you mean by cupboard?” 

I hadn’t responded immediately.

Mistake number two.

“Harry?” he’d asked again, leaning back to hold me at arm’s length, eyes narrowing. 

“What did you mean by cupboard?” he’d asked again, very slowly, which, in Draco-speak, meant this was my last chance. 

“Nothing.” 

Then, I’d made a point not to look him in the eye.

Another fucking mistake.

“Liar.” 

Draco’s hand had twisted my chin up to look at him, and, next thing I knew, his eyes were blazing with an icy fire. 

“The fucking _bastards_ ,” he’d growled, and my own hackles had risen then, knowing exactly what had just transpired. 

“You fucking _arse_ ,” I’d snapped, twisting my head from his grasp. “How fucking _dare_ you go into my head.” 

“I didn’t mean to,” he’d retorted immediately. 

“I couldn’t help it, your mind was so open, a three-year-old could have rifled through it.” 

“Oh, sod off, Malfoy,” I’d snarled, practically jumping to my feet and rounding to glare down at him. 

A three-year-old in-fucking-deed. 

I’d been all geared up for a fantastic row, but then Draco had just smirked at me and then disappeared before I’d had any idea what the fuck his twisted mind was up to. 

And then it had dawned on me.

He was going to visit the Dursleys.

Except he had no idea where they lived.

Which meant he had Apparated to the very obvious home of our mutual friends, the both of whom had known me since the very start of Hogwarts, and who would, most definitely, know where my Aunt and Uncle lived.

And that’s when I’d discovered that the bastard had placed the anti-Disapparating charm on me. 

I jabbed at Hermione’s number for the fifth time, having alternated between her’s and Ron’s for an equal jabbing of four times each, and she finally picked up.

“Harry?” 

“Don’t even try to play nonchalant,” I cut her off. “I know Draco was there.”

Hermione didn’t answer, only reinforcing my suspicions. 

“What did you tell him?” I demanded. 

“Erm…” 

“Hermione?” 

“Harry,” she groaned. “I didn’t tell him anything. Promise.” 

“So he’s still there?” 

Hermione paused.

“No,” she replied in a very small voice.

“Then where is he,” I demanded. 

Hermione didn’t respond immediately.

“He… might be… at your Aunt and Uncle’s,” she finally admitted quietly. 

“Seriously, Hermione?” I squawked. “Why? How?”

“Harry… I didn’t say anything,” she repeated.

That fucker was in such big trouble. I couldn’t even see straight. 

“Thanks, ‘Mione,” I sighed. “I’ll talk to you later.” 

Without wasting another second, I stormed out of the flat and began striding down the street towards, hoping that Draco’s charm was location-based as opposed to person-based. 

I had to get to the Dursleys as quickly as possible. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to admit, I had a lot of fun writing this chapter and imagining Draco being a goofball. 
> 
> Also, I stumbled across a list of ancient insults and decided that Draco would definitely know many of them so....
> 
> furfuraceous - dandruff-covered
> 
> raggabrash - disorganised, to the point of driving others insane
> 
> pediculous - lice-infested
> 
> rakefire - someone who overstays their welcome (so long that the fire would have gone out and you'd have to rake the embers)
> 
> klazomaniac - someone who only speaks by shouting


	31. Blast from the Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco interrupts Saturday tea at the Dursley household, where Dudley has stopped by for a rare visit.
> 
> What punishment does Draco have in store for them upon learning that Harry lived in a cupboard as a child?

_Saturday Afternoon_

_10 October 2009_

_Aunt Petunia’s POV_

“Dudley, dearest, have another cake,” I insisted, pushing the tray towards him. 

“And eat more of the sandwiches, too.” 

He was even thinner than the last time, I noted, pursing my lips. 

His wife’s doing, no doubt.

She was the reason behind all the awful changes in Duddy’s sweet personality and cherubic looks over the years.

“Thank you, mum, but I’m alright,” he replied, taking another sip of tea. 

“But you’re losing so much weight,” I argued. “Look at you, you’re practically wasting away.”

“That lady of yours must like her men on the scrawny side, eh?” Vernon chuckled as he helped himself to another sandwich. 

“Please,” Dudley sighed, taking another sip of his tea. “I’m nowhere near what anyone would call scrawny.” 

“That’s what’s wrong with your generation,” Vernon was saying. 

“Or maybe it’s what comes of living in the city. You’re all too obsessed with looking like those stick-figures in the magazines and on the telly.” 

I couldn’t help but run my eyes over his person.

He was so thin, and I wondered if the woman might be starving him. 

She was constantly at him to lose weight, forcing him to go to the gym and take long jogs so that she could parade him around London and show off.

“Anyway, Dudley,” I changed the subject, seeing that Dudley was not going to eat any more of his favourite sandwiches or cakes that I’d been sure to make for him. 

“I still don’t understand why you couldn’t have brought Violet and Alfie with you. It’s been months since they’ve seen their grandma and grandpa.” 

“Mum, I already _told_ you.” 

He sounded exasperated and my mouth twitched. 

“Callum has a football game and the little ones wanted to watch. 

“Honestly, what do you expect me to do? We didn’t think the team would do so well. Thought they’d be out of the running by now, but they keep winning.” 

A likely excuse. 

It was Alice that put him up to this, no doubt. 

I’d never liked her, and neither had Vernon. 

She was a vicious girl, bent on tearing my dear Duddy away from his mum and dad, constantly forcing him to decide between his parents or her and the children. 

I would never say it aloud, of course, but I was certain she’d planned to fall pregnant when she and Duddy were first dating, just to sink her hooks into him so she could continue to pull him away from his poor mummy. 

Don’t get me wrong; I loved Callum and spoilt him thoroughly, but I could see right through Alice’s scheme behind it all. 

“Good for him, the little go-getter!” Vernon was chuckling. “Taking after his old man and his grandpa. Going after what he wants.” 

Dudley smiled thinly but didn’t respond.

“Well, what about tomorrow,” I pressed. “I have just a few presents to give them and I insist on seeing them open them.” 

“Mum, no,” Dudley groaned, putting his teacup down and rubbing at his eyes. “You spoil them rotten. It’s too much.”

“Don’t be silly, Duddy,” I scoffed. “A grandmother’s job is to spoil her darling grandchildren. Especially when she only gets to see them a few times a year.” 

Dudley had the grace to look upset.

Good, I thought, raising my teacup to my lips. 

Let him see what he did to his poor mother, allowing that wife of his to keep the grandkids from us. 

Dudley opened his mouth to speak but was cut off by the doorbell, and I rose, giving Vernon a quizzical glance.

Surely we weren’t expecting anyone?

I opened the door cautiously and frowned down at the handsome young man standing at our stoop. 

I would have thought him maybe a salesman, but they didn’t exactly go round door-to-door anymore these days. 

“May I help you?” I asked, taking a quick glance around to be sure no neighbours were out to see the stranger at our door. 

He didn’t respond, only continued to stare directly at me, eyes blazing as though I’d done something to anger him and I gasped, hand flying in alarm to my neck as he strode purposefully up the steps. 

“I… you… you’re not welcome here,” I gasped, but it was as though I had been rendered completely immobile and my body involuntarily moved out of his way as he strode into our foyer and shut the door behind him. 

“Afternoon,” he greeted me, eyes still seething. “Petunia, I presume?” 

He strode into the hallway, eyes scanning the walls, the floor, everywhere, it seemed, and I wondered what he could possibly be looking for.

“Where is it?” he demanded, and I fell back against the hall table, grasping at it for dear life. 

We were being robbed. 

In broad daylight.

“V-Vernon!” I shouted. “C-c-call the police!”

The stranger chuckled at this. 

“Your mobiles won’t work. I made sure of that before I walked in.” 

“What?” I gasped. 

How was that even possible? What could he possibly mean?

“Vernon!” I called again, more urgently this time, and I was relieved to hear Vernon and Dudley arrive in the hallway. 

“Nice of you two wankers to join us,” the stranger greeted them and I gasped.

“How _dare_ you!” I sputtered as Vernon raised his fist to the boy, his face already going red.

“Now, see here!” he shouted. “Who are you? What is your business here? I’ll not have you speaking such inappropriate words in _my_ house!”

“Oh, shut up, both of you,” he sneered, fixing both of us with a scathing look. 

“That either of you would see fit to lecture _me_ on propriety…” 

His manner, accent, clothing, his entire look, screamed upper class, and I wondered what in the world he might want from us. 

“Now, where is it?” he demanded again, whirling to look at me. “The cupboard.” 

“The cupboard?” I repeated, at a loss for words. 

What could this insane man possibly want in one of our cupboards? 

“Yes,” he snapped, eyes flashing, looking quite like lightning striking out against a stormy sky. 

The mirror behind me shattered suddenly, and I ducked, screaming, as did Duddy and Vernon, all of us raising our hands, expecting a barrage of bullets as the madman clearly had a gun and had just shot at the mirror. 

“Get up, you blithering fools,” he sneered, and I managed to peer up at him from between my fingers to see him standing with a look of utter disgust on his face.

“I-I… who are you?” I managed, rising shakily to my feet.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Dudley helping his father struggle to his feet. 

“No matter who I am,” he replied disdainfully. 

“I know who _you_ are. And what you’ve done. You ought to be disgusted.” 

“Now see here,” Vernon was gasping, taking a few steps to look the man in the eye. 

“You apologise to my wife. Speaking to a woman that way, _you’re_ the one who ought to be…” 

Vernon’s voice suddenly cut off, and he gasped, mouth working, opening and closing, but no sound coming out. 

“Shut. Up.” The stranger punctuated each word with venom. “You withered old toad.” 

“I’m only going to ask one more time,” he continued, looking between Vernon and Dudley and me. 

“Where is the…” 

“Draco!” 

A voice I hadn’t heard in over a decade called from upstairs and next minute _Harry_ came pounding down the stairs. 

And I realised, with sudden clarity, that the stranger was one of _them._

“Draco!” Harry shouted again, as he came into view, cheeks ruddy, clothing a bit askew, as though he’d been running wildly to get here. 

“You’re not supposed to be here,” this Draco person sounded amused as he turned to watch Harry make his way down the stairs.

“I know,” Harry replied. 

He sounded angry.

“And we’ll talk about that later.”

“Harry! Hi!” 

I turned to stare at Dudley, horrified.

Why was my Duddy _happy_ to see _Harry_?

“Erm… hello,” Harry seemed just as surprised as anyone by Dudley's enthusiastic greeting as he came to stand next to Draco. 

“I’ve been trying to find you,” Dudley was saying. “Kept swinging by your place but you’re never home.” 

“Oh, well, erm. I don’t really live there anymore,” Harry explained, looking away from Dudley to glance cautiously at the blond man. 

“I should have known,” Vernon panted, having been given use of his voice again. 

“I should have _known_. You’re one of _them!_ And you’re not welcome here! You’re not welcome in our home. Get out!” 

“Come on, Draco, let’s go,” Harry was saying as he reached to grab Draco’s hand, but he shook it away.

“Draco,” Harry tried again, tugging gently at Draco’s hand to pull him into an embrace that was much too close to be friendly.

“Stop. They’re not worth it,” Harry instructed, running a hand through the other man’s hair, and I couldn’t help myself a small smile knowing that Lily’s son had turned out so poorly.

I mean, yes, Duddy had his issues, but they were very few and mostly caused by his abhorrent wife.

Nothing like being… well… a _freak_. 

_And_ gay.

A double abomination, I smirked to myself.

“You’re… you’re…” Vernon was sputtering, spitting out the words as though he’d swallowed something foul.

“ _Together?_ How absolutely disgusting!” he bellowed, and I whole-heartedly agreed.

“What is it, boy, it wasn’t enough that you landed yourself in this house? Burdened your Aunt and I all those years we had to raise you? And, despite all our efforts and goodwill to raise you properly, you _still_ managed to turn out to be a good-for-nothing-freak like your ne’er-do-well parents? Then, what, you had to go push the envelope and become a ruddy _fruit!_?”

“Uncle Vernon.” Harry was still gazing into the eyes of his… partner?

I made a face.

Foul. Absolutely foul.

“My partner, _Draco_ , in case you hadn’t noticed, is a very volatile creature who is quite on edge at the moment, and also quite keen on hexing you,” Harry continued, still focusing his attention on this Draco character.

“Oh? And what’s he going to do? Pull a rabbit out of a hat?” Vernon allowed himself a chuckle and I couldn’t help but giggle myself. 

“He doesn’t even have one of those swishy magic wand thingies on him.” 

“A _rabbit_? Out of a _hat_?” Draco turned to glare at Vernon incredulously. 

“Harry, love, what’s this nutter uncle of yours going on about?” 

“It’s a muggle thing. Don’t worry about it,” Harry assured him with a quick shake of his head. 

“Where is the fucking cupboard?”

“Merlin, Draco, you’re not going to give it up, are you?” 

“You mean Harry’s cupboard?” Dudley asked, pointing towards the door leading to the little space beneath the stairs, and Draco turned to focus his attention on my son as he reached to open the door.

“Draco,” Harry began again, but Draco ignored him as he crossed the hallway to stand before the cupboard and I took the few steps to stand beside Vernon, clutching at him for what protection he could offer from these two sins of nature in our home. 

Honestly, I’d almost forgotten about that vile cupboard.

We’d gotten so in the habit of pretending it wasn’t there, ignoring the memory of that pesky brat who had been left on our doorstep all those years ago.

Ungrateful little urchin.

Our surprise visitor was now staring into the cupboard, at the little mattress, wrinkled sheets, and makeshift living space Harry had carved out for himself as a child.

“Draco.”

Harry was approaching him cautiously, as one would a skittish horse and I turned my attention back to the other double-abnormality in my home.

He was still staring at the cupboard, breathing heavily, and I noticed that his jaw was twitching.

“You monsters,” he ground out, voice quiet but still heavy with rage.

He turned to fix first Vernon, then myself, with the iciest stare I’d ever seen in my life.

“You let a child _sleep_ in that place?”

“Draco,” Harry said again.

“They would lock him up in it, sometimes, too,” Dudley was saying, and I nearly choked.

What was my Duddykins thinking, trying to ingratiate himself to his freak cousin and his freak boyfriend?

“Even my father wouldn’t have done something like this,” Draco hissed, rounding on Vernon and I once more, eyes blazing. 

There was a whoosh of air and all the photos hanging on the wall crashed to the floor while several of the balusters on the stairway splintered and cracked in two.

I screamed and clutched even more tightly at Vernon. 

“You’d better tell that ruddy boyfriend of yours to get himself under control. I don’t want the neighbours to see any more of your kind showing up here to reprimand you for using… for doing… you know, when you’re not supposed to.” 

“Thanks, Uncle Vernon, but seeing as we’re both well over seventeen, I think we’ll be okay.” 

Harry turned his attention back to Draco, who was still staring into the closet beneath the stairs. 

A few more balustrades cracked and the cupboard door blew off its hinges, and I screamed again, clutching at my face in terror.

“Make him stop!” I shrieked at Harry. “He’s _your… your…_ friend! You’re responsible for him! Tell him to stop!” 

“Stop? You want me to stop?” Draco seemed to have found his voice and he turned from the cupboard, crossing the distance between us in a few short strides to stare down at Vernon and me. 

“You disgust me,” he spat out, voice shaking with rage and his eyes frosting over with contempt. 

“You left a _child_ locked up in that cupboard for weeks on end. You _starved_ him. You told him _lies_. What is _wrong_ with you?”

More shattering of glass and cracking of wood as more of our home was destroyed.

“Merlin, Harry, how did you turn out as good as you are growing up with this kind of evil?” 

“I could ask you the same question,” Harry replied, grasping Draco’s hand and tugging at him once more. 

“Come on, Draco, let’s go.” 

“No.” 

Draco sounded almost petulant and the light bulbs in all the fixtures burst, raining a fine mist of glass down over all of us that made me duck and scream again.

“I’m serious, Draco, quit breaking things.” 

“If you think I’m not going to send you the repair bill to fix all of this,” Vernon growled, bravely taking a step towards the duo. 

“You know, Potter, I’m usually joking when I refer to your 'idiot-Muggle' family, but your uncle here is a special kind of stupid.” 

Light bulbs, windows, and, from what I could tell, most of the glasses in our kitchen continued to shatter and break. 

“What I _should_ do is burn this hovel you call home to the ground, with you locked inside it,” he hissed fixing us with his gaze again, and his eyes were filled with such hatred that I could only cower and hide my face in Vernon’s shoulder. 

Of course, my freak-of-a-sister’s no-good son would go find himself a boyfriend who was not only also an aberration, but insane as well. 

“You will do nothing of the sort!” Vernon stood his ground. 

“Oh?” he asked softly, an evil smile curling his lips. “And how were you going to stop me?

“Although, honestly, I think a fire would be too good for you. Too quick. Too easy. I almost wish my father were still around so I could flip through his twisted mind for some of his favourite methods for dealing with vermin. 

“I suppose you two ought to be thanking some deity or other that he’s not.” 

Draco smiled a chilling smile that positively made me shiver with fear. 

“And why do we care who your ruddy father was?”

Vernon had always been much braver than I could ever be. 

“Remember when you all had to leave Privet Drive and go under protection?” Harry reminded us and I shuddered again.

The worst year of our lives, being forced to live so far from home, some freak madman on the loose, knowing that we were under the constant watch of those two… those two… mutants.

And, of course, it was all the boy’s fault.

“Yes, yes,” Vernon was saying, rolling his eyes. “That numty madman was after you and so we had to uproot our whole lives because of it.”

“As it so happens, my ‘ _ruddy father’_ was that ‘ _numpty_ _madman’s’_ right-hand man,” this Draco character drawled, another icy smile spreading across his features. 

“I assure you, he had some rather creative methods for dealing with anyone who displeased him.” 

“Draco, please,” Harry pulled him around to face him, cradling his face between his hands. 

“Stop it,” Harry instructed once more, bringing Draco’s face down to meet his so that their foreheads and the tips of their noses were touching. 

As disgusting as I found this display of affection, it seemed to be having a calming effect on Draco and the sound of glass shattering finally receded and dwindled away to nothing. 

“They’re not worth it,” Harry continued, and I bristled.

Really, he was the most ungrateful brat. 

“I’ll tell you one more time to get the bloody hell out of my house!” Vernon added imperiously and Harry’s head jerked to the side to shoot emerald fire at Vernon and me.

“For fuck’s sake, can’t you just shut the fuck up?” he demanded, as Draco spun out of Harry’s grasp and Vernon suddenly found himself slammed against the wall, a good metre and a half off the floor, as though an invisible hand were holding him and dragging him up the wall to the second floor. 

I was a sobbing, gibbering mess, and I heard Duddy gasp somewhere behind me. 

“I’m _trying_ to help you, you sodding _idiots_ ,” Harry hissed. 

“I don’t know why you’re trying to help them any,” Draco mused, taking his eyes off of Vernon to glance behind him at Harry. 

“Merlin knows they wouldn’t piss on you to put out a fire if the situation arose.” 

He turned his attention back to Vernon with an evil smirk and I screamed again as Vernon slowly began to rotate until he was turned upside down on the wall. 

“Let me down!” he cried out, turning a frightening shade of crimson as the blood rushed to his head to flush his already anger-reddened face.

He plummeted, suddenly, a good half-metre, before coming to an abrupt halt, an anguished scream ripping out of his throat.

“Like that?” Draco asked nonchalantly.

He paused for a moment, frowning as though deep in thought. 

“Harry, give Dudley your number,” he instructed suddenly, turning to look at my Duddy with interest. 

“Hmm? Erm… I mean, yeah, Harry, that’d be great…” Dudley agreed enthusiastically. 

“What?” Harry looked just as confused as I was.

“Give him your number," Draco repeated. "It’s important.” 

“Dudley, don’t,” I advised. “You… you don’t have to listen to these monsters.” 

“No, Mum, I want to,” Dudley replied, fishing his mobile from his pocket. 

“I’ve been trying to get in touch with Harry.”

“You’ve bewitched him!” I accused, staring wildly from Draco to Harry, who was currently exchanging numbers with my Duddy.

“Oh, sure, Aunt Petunia,” Harry drawled, sounding remarkably like his boyfriend at that moment. “I’ve just been _dying_ to introduce Draco to ickle-Duddykins, what, with how close we were going up.” 

He paused and glanced sheepishly at Dudley.

“No offence,” he amended quickly.

“None taken,” Dudley assured him and I collapsed, nearly in tears, at the site I was witnessing before me. 

“Draco, I’m serious,” Harry turned his attention back to his boyfriend once more. 

“Quit it. I already told you, they’re not worth a trip to Azkaban.” 

“Who said anything about Azkaban?” 

Draco swung round and fixed Harry with a grin. 

“What’s Azkaban?” Dudley asked.

“It’s the wizard prison,” Draco replied. “Patrolled by Dementors.” 

He paused and frowned.

“I suppose you don’t know what those are, though?”

“No… I-I-I do,” Dudley stammered, all the blood draining from his face. “Harry rescued me from one, once.” 

“Really?” Draco looked incredulous, and I felt my ire growing as I remembered how my poor Duddy had been speechless and terrified when Harry had brought him back that day.

“He did it!” I shrieked. “He made it happen! Thought it’d be funny to play a prank on Dudley, I bet.”

“No, he bloody well did not,” Draco snapped, and I suddenly found myself suspended on the wall next to my husband.

I screamed, only to find no sound was escaping and turned my head to look fearfully at Vernon, who had also been silenced.

I felt my body slowly turning, righting itself, along with Vernon, as we were set back upright and lowered to the floor, although neither of us could move, and we remained pinned to the wall. 

“Are you sure, Harry?” Draco was asking, taking a step closer to us and looking from Vernon to myself, an almost maniacal glint in his eyes.

“There’s any number of hexes I could put on them that would be _completely_ untraceable,” he continued conversationally.

“What do you say?” he turned and grinned at Harry. “Boils? That could be fun…”

“Bat Bogey?” Harry suggested, a small smile tugging at his lips. 

“Permanent Tarantallegra?” 

The two continued throwing back suggestions, none of which made any sense to me, but my mouth was now stuck open in a near-permanent silent scream, as it seemed Draco had finally worn Harry down as he was no longer urging Draco to leave us be.

“No, no,” Draco sighed, turning his attention to Vernon and I. “None of those are good enough.”

He paused, and it felt as though he was looking right into the depths of my very soul and my eyes squeezed shut despite my anger.

“You can close your eyes if you want,” he murmured softly. “I’ll still figure it out.” 

I had no idea what the nutter was talking about, but something about his tone frightened me more than any of the broken glass, balusters, or other disgusting displays of abnormality we’d been subjected to this day. 

“Such a busy-body,” he went on, still in that too-quiet voice. “Nothing better to do with your time than to spy on your neighbours? Peering in on their little secrets so that you can gossip with your friends and feel so pretty and perfect?” 

He paused then, and I felt my eyes jerk open, as though on their own, to meet his icy gaze. 

“Boils, broken china, bats flying out of your nose… you could survive all of that. That wouldn’t break you,” he paused again to smirk down at me knowingly as he crossed the distance between us so that he was stood directly in front of me, and I know I would have collapsed in tears had he not had some evil spell worked on me to glue me to the wall. 

“But, what if you were suddenly overcome with an overwhelming urge to tell the truth? Always. To divulge all of your little secrets that you work to keep so hidden from your gossip mates?” 

He couldn’t be serious. 

They couldn’t control something like that, could they? 

“Oh, not all of us,” he replied, as though he had heard my question. “But I can.” 

He chuckled to himself and shook his head. 

“It’s going to be so _deliciously_ awkward for you. I almost feel bad.” 

He broke off to laugh softly again as he used his index finger to raise my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze head-on. 

“You’ll be constantly compelled to tell every single embarrassing detail about your life that you strive so hard to sweep beneath the rug. And at the most inopportune times. 

“How you sometimes let the housework get away from you. How you once burnt the roast, so you had to order one from some pub in the next town over before company arrived. How you’re secretly envious of Eloise Daley’s ginger curls and that’s why you constantly tease her about it. That you were jealous of your sister. How you’re nervous that no one asks after your darling Duddy and the grandchildren anymore because maybe they’ve noticed that they rarely stop by.” 

How on earth this absolute stranger had knowledge of any of this was beyond me.

“But not about Harry, of course," he continued with a cheeky wink. "Or me. You’re not allowed to talk about us.” 

Behind him, I could see Harry taking the whole scene in, mouth slightly open in surprise.

“He did warn the both of you to stop pissing him off, honestly,” Dudley piped up. 

Draco’s gaze moved to Vernon as though our son hadn’t just spoken. 

“And you,” he seethed out, raking his gaze from Vernon’s head down to his polished shoes. 

“So much like your wife. 

“Petty. Vile. Obsessed with your image and intimidating others.” 

He spat the words out as though they left a bad taste in his mouth. 

“You remind me of my father. Pity he’s not still alive. You could have been fast friends,” he paused and smirked as Harry let a snort of laughter escape. 

“I mean, aside from the fact that he hated Muggles and you hate wizards,” he corrected himself, eyes running up and down Vernon’s person once more. 

“I know the perfect punishment for you. 

“Instead of intimidating your subordinates, both at work and in your everyday life, you’re going to grovel at their feet and shower them with flattery. 

“You’re going to tell them how you really feel. How scared you are. That you’re intimidating them because you’re too much of a piss-ant to be a real man, so you want to take it out on them. 

“And you’ll thank them for it. 

“For being so confident and comfortable in their own skin that they sparked up all of your own insecurities because you could never be so self-assured as to stand on your own personality for acceptance.”

He glanced over to me, then back at Vernon, a pleased smile curving his lips.

“I suppose the punishment, for both of you, is only to show people who you really are. See how that works out for you.” 

Vernon and I allowed each other a terrified glance. 

Surely he was joking? 

Surely he couldn’t make us do this?

“Petunia, darling, I’ve already told you that I can absolutely make you do these things,” Draco reminded me. 

“Erm… Draco can… sort of... see inside your head,” Harry called out from where he and Dudley stood watching at the other end of the hallway. 

“Special little gift I’ve always had,” he confirmed with a wink. “But don’t worry. Harry’s rubbish at it.” 

“How long does the spell last?” Dudley asked, sounding genuinely interested in this… this unspeakable freak business.

Draco turned to look at him as though he’d forgotten he’d been there. 

“As long as I want it to,” he replied, propping one elbow up with his other hand and stroking at his chin thoughtfully.

“I suppose forever would be a bit much,” he reasoned, turning his attention back to Vernon and me, pondering us for a bit, clearly revelling in the dramatic tension crackling in the air as we all awaited his sentencing with bated breath. 

“Given that this is your comeuppance for having neglected Harry throughout his entire childhood, I think seventeen years ought to do the trick?”

He turned his head to look at Harry questioningly.

“Sure, why not?” Harry replied, positively beaming at Draco as though he were a bloody knight in shining armour. 

Draco held his arms out, and Harry quickly crossed the distance to fall into his embrace.

“I admit someone probably ought to have warned you not to fuck with anyone I care about,” he informed us, placing a kiss atop Harry’s head. 

“Suffice it to say you’ve been properly warned should either of you have any inkling to try to see, contact, or otherwise bother my Harry ever again.” 

He glanced over at Dudley who was standing meekly in the corner.

“Wh-What are you going to do to me?” he asked nervously. 

Draco stared thoughtfully at my son as he continued to embrace Harry, who twisted his face around so that he could look at Dudley as well. 

“Nothing,” he pronounced finally. “You’re alright.” 

Harry’s brow furrowed, but he offered his cousin a small smile before looking up at Draco, clearly confused. 

“I’ll make sure Harry calls you,” Draco added, and then he and Harry disappeared without so much as a sound. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While it was SOOOO tempting to have Draco unleash all manner of violent hexes on these fuckers, I decided he'd probably go a more sneaky, decidedly Slytherin route. 
> 
> What do you think? 
> 
> Also, wtf is going on with Dudley?


	32. When the Compartments Fall Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a long(er) chapter from many different POVs, but:
> 
> \- Draco & Harry briefly discuss wtf just happened at the Dursleys  
> \- We learn a tad more about Blaise's home life before Draco stops by unexpectedly  
> \- Ron and Hermione discuss (very) important issues before Harry interrupts  
> \- Harry and Draco just really can't stop being fucking adorable, now, can they?

_Saturday Afternoon_

_10 October 2009_

_Draco’s POV_

I kept Harry wrapped tightly in my arms even after we’d touched down safely in the entry of our flat.

I needed to hold on to him to keep me from Apparating right back to those foul monsters’ home and razing it to the ground as they deserved. 

I’d never quite understood the “seeing red” idiom until his cousin had opened that cupboard door and I’d seen the miserable little mattress jammed into the irregularly-shaped space beneath the stairway. 

The carelessly constructed shelves held faded, broken army men and a few battered race cars that had clearly been Harry’s only companions for hours, sometimes days on end. 

A bare lightbulb with its beady little pull-string only accentuated the dismal melancholy the minuscule space exuded. 

Because places held on to memories, too. 

Most people didn’t realise, even though they could grasp the sense of a place easily enough, and I often chuckled to myself when people said things like:

“That place looks creepy.” 

“I just like it here; I get a good vibe from it.” 

“If only these walls could talk.” 

Because they did. 

Not like people did, obviously. 

Or maybe exactly like people did, because it was the people who inhabited these spaces who imprinted them with their own memories. 

Imbued the very fabric of said walls with their histories until even the dimmest Muggle could get a vague ripple of the sentiment when entering a place. 

Anyone opening that cupboard would have sensed the emptiness; that a child had been mistreated and left alone there. 

A Legilimens looking in on that same desolated space has an entirely different experience, which was why any Legilimens with half a brain worked so hard at Occlumency and the ability to put up and take down those sorts of barriers at will. 

Could you imagine walking around a place like London or Wiltshire, or fucking anywhere, really, and being besieged with all the memories each site holds? 

To be clear, they weren’t actual memories, like when you entered a human mind; rather sentiments that washed over you in waves. 

It was my fault, really, what had happened at Harry’s relatives’ home.

I had let my guard down as soon as I’d Apparated into that street. 

I’d wanted to get a feel for the neighbourhood in which Harry had grown up, and, to be entirely honest, had regretted it almost immediately. 

Never, in my entire life, could I have possibly imagined a more vapid, mundane community than this fucking shithole where Harry had spent the formative years of his life. 

There were no initial waves of energy. 

No feelings.

Nothing.

And then….

Jealousy.

Fear.

Hate.

Ambition.

All those same fucking emotions that had clouded my life as a child.

The same disgusting emotions that had flooded the manor.

The same reasons why Blaise and Pansy both hated visiting “home” but couldn’t explain why. 

The same reason why Dudley dreaded the obligatory visits for tea with Mum and Dad and didn’t like bringing his children there, although he, also, couldn’t explain why. 

_This_ is where Harry Fucking Potter had grown up? 

What, in all that Hecate held sacred, could these, frankly, boring idiots have happening in their lives so as to understand _any_ of those emotions?

A second, smaller, swell of energy answered that question.

They _had_ no real knowledge of said emotions; the majority of them had never progressed, emotionally, past secondary, and were still living their lives as though they were…. well… in fucking secondary. 

Fast-forward to when Harry’s cousin had opened that bloody door. 

I’d had my guard down and had immediately been drowned by waves of hopelessness. 

I could sense all of Harry’s fear. 

His loneliness.

But it was the waves of hunger and the overwhelming sense of uncertainty that did me in — an emotion I didn’t even have the name for, and could only describe as a child’s questioning as to what he had done wrong and a fervent desire to be better. 

I’d begun popping light bulbs and cracking balusters in the house like that bubble wrap you wrapped delicate parcels in just to keep calm. 

“I’m supposed to be angry with you right now,” Harry was murmuring, and I could feel him grinning even though his face was currently buried in the crook of my neck. 

“ _So_ angry,” he added, and I couldn’t help but laugh softly.

“I’m not in trouble, then?” I asked hopefully.

Because I had absolutely been expecting to be. 

Harry sighed and stepped away from me, eyes staring up at me as though calculating my punishment. 

“Thank you for not eviscerating them and getting yourself sent to Azkaban,” he said finally. “I would have been _really_ angry then.” 

He tugged at my hand, urging me to follow him to sit on the sofa. 

“How did they get away with it?” I asked, frowning as I gathered him into my arms once more. 

For some reason, I felt it very necessary to hold on to Harry right now. 

“With what?” 

“With neglecting you like that,” I replied. “Don’t Muggles have people that come round and take you away for doing shit like that?” 

Harry snorted.

“You think any of our neighbours would have reported anything?” 

He had a point. 

“What’s going on with Dudley? Why’d you make me give him my number?” 

“I think he’s changed a bit since the last time you saw him,” I answered, kissing the top of his head, all but burying my face in his thick, glossy locks and inhaling deeply because, now that he’d decided to help himself to my superior hair products, his hair was like the bloody Bermuda Triangle for me… constantly luring my hands or my face to bury themselves in it and get lost in the tangle of waves that still, despite both our efforts, refused to lay flat or retain any style attempted. 

“What’d you see in his brain, anyway?” Harry grumbled, burrowing closer to me.

Apparently he didn’t mind my obsession with his hair. 

“I think that’s something he’d rather _he_ talked to you about.” 

“Draco, you’re making me nervous.” 

“Why would you be nervous? He’s just Dudley,” I reasoned. 

“Yeah, Dudley who beat me up as a child,” he muttered, fingers fiddling idly with one of the buttons on my jacket. 

“He’s changed,” I assured him, shimmying down so I was lounging comfortably on the sofa, pulling and rearranging Harry along with me so that he was nestled between me and the back of the sofa. 

“I think that Dementor thing was the beginning of a lot of soul-searching for him,” I continued, carding my fingers lazily through Harry’s hair, because Bermuda Triangle. 

“Just… take my word for it. He’s had to do a lot of thinking about the way he was raised, and the person he used to be, and the person he wants to be and... how it all fits together, and... He’s had to admit to himself that he was a horrible person and that he’s done some terrible things and he’s trying to be better. Which is really difficult if you’ve got a bit of an ego… trust me, I’d know.” 

Harry snorted.

“ _You_ have an ego? No!” he gasped in mock surprise. “I would have never guessed. You’re _so_ modest….” 

“Of course I am,” I replied, not skipping a beat. “I pride myself on it highly.” 

“Pride yourself on what?” Harry stared up at me quizzically.

“My modesty.” I reminded him, suppressing a smile and failing miserably. “It’s the trait I’m probably the most proud of. Humbly, of course.” 

“You’re terrible,” Harry informed me, shoving at me playfully. 

“All joking aside, text your cousin and set up a meeting with him. I’ll join you if you want.” 

“M’kay,” Harry agreed stretching up to kiss me. 

I’m pretty sure he’d only meant for it to be a quick kiss but I couldn’t help leaning in for another.

And then another.

And then a longer one. 

And then his hands were tangled in my hair, pulling me closer, and one of my hands had found its way down to cup his arse and pull _him_ closer, and then Harry asked:

“Mmm. Can we have make-up sex now?” 

“Make-up sex?” I somehow managed to frown and giggle while still kissing him and I was quite pleased with my multi-tasking. “But we didn’t even have a proper row.”

“S’okay,” Harry informed me, hands tugging my shirt free from my trousers. “We can still do make-up sex.” 

And I gave up on trying to make any sense of what he was telling me.

If Harry wanted make-up sex, he was going to get make-up sex. 

***

_Saturday Evening_

_10 October 2009_

_Blaise’s POV_

“ _Papa, ho finito tutto_!” Hugo informed me, a huge, pleased smile stretching across his face and I glanced over at his empty plate and grinned back at him, even though I knew Anaïs or I would be finding a little pile of diced tomatoes vanished somewhere in the house later that evening. 

That was the difficult thing about raising kids as a wizard; did you scold them for not eating their vegetables or did you praise them for figuring out how to vanish them from their plate?

“ _Sei pronto per un gelato ora_?” I asked, knowing he would absolutely be ready for some ice cream. 

I only spoke to Hugo and Manon in Italian; Anaïs only spoke to them in French. 

I had thought my wife was insane when she’d sat me down five years ago as we awaited the birth of our first child and had told me her plan to ensure that our soon-to-be-born child learnt all three languages spoken in our household. 

_“Let me get this straight,” I’d said, switching to French, just in case something was getting lost in translation. “I’m only going to speak to our son in Italian.”_

_She’d nodded._

_“And you’re only going to speak to him in French.”_

_She’d nodded again._

_“And… no one is going to speak to him in English….”_

_She’d nodded a third time._

_Okay. So definitely not lost in translation._

_“How is he going to learn English, then?”_

_“He’ll learn it from hearing it everywhere whenever he’s not at home,” she’d replied._

_“Is our baby going to be spending a lot of time outside of the house?”_

_Because that certainly hadn’t seemed safe._

_“No,” she’d smiled at me fondly, as though she knew exactly what was going through my mind._

_“I know you’re nervous, chéri, but trust me. I’ve done all the research,” she assured me, taking one of my hands in hers and tilting my head back up to look at her with the other._

_“_ _You speaking only Italian to Hugo and me only_ _speaking_ _French will make sure he doesn’t confuse the two languages, you see? He’ll learn to distinguish which is Italian and which is French very easily that way._

_“_ _And, as for English, I know it sounds crazy, but all the studies and research shows he’ll pick it up on his own just from living in London. He’ll hear it everywhere, even before he’s old enough to understand, his little brain will be absorbing it._

_“And when we go to work, he will be at daycare and he’ll hear English and learn it there.”_

_“Okay,” I’d still not been entirely convinced. “If you’re sure….”_

Of course, she’d been correct. 

Hugo spoke Italian, French, and English perfectly and could switch between all three with alarming dexterity, sometimes using all three languages in one sentence, leaving Anaïs and I pausing to string together what he’d just said. 

Little Manon, our daughter, had just turned two, and already knew to speak her few words of French to _maman_ and her few words of Italian to _papa_. 

Hugo seemed to have become her designated English-speaker-at-home. 

“ _Chéri, veux-tu que j’aille chercher un Cornetto_?” Anaïs offered to get Hugo’s favourite ice cream cones from the freezer as I gathered the dishes and sent them to the sink with a quick swish of my wand. 

She was just returning, ice creams in hand when the doorbell rang and she turned to walk towards the front door, throwing me a quizzical glance over her shoulder as she sent the frozen treats towards me. 

I shrugged, letting her know that I wasn’t expecting anyone and set to work opening the ice creams and getting the kids settled happily eating their dessert, seeing as Anaïs and I had some company of sorts to entertain. 

She returned a minute later, chatting happily in French with Draco. 

The fuck was Draco doing here? I wondered, rising to greet my mate. 

“Draco,” I frowned. “What are you doing here?” 

“Lovely to see you, too, Blaise,” he returned, falling into my embrace and lightly cuffing the side of my head as he did so. 

“You know what I meant, silly,” I chided.

“ _Tonton_ Draco!” Hugo exclaimed, jumping out of his chair and scrambling for Draco, arms held up. 

We weren’t sure when Hugo had decided that Draco was his uncle, but he’d called him Uncle Draco ever since he could talk. 

Draco, who had taken to being “Tonton” Draco immediately, knelt down and scooped Hugo up. 

“ _T’en_ _veux_?” Hugo asked, offering Draco a bite of his ice cream cone, lifting the frozen treat up as he did so, managing to smush it right above Draco’s mouth and around his nose. 

“Mmrph!” came Draco’s response, and I quickly grabbed a napkin from the table and sent it floating to him. 

“Thank you, Hugo,” Draco replied in French, laughing and wiping his face off. “That was delicious.” 

By this time, Manon had also made her way to see Tonton Draco, arms reaching up, demanding “up,” what little of her ice cream not smeared all over her face and hands left pooling on the table, forgotten at the prospect of a couple of good tosses into the air by uncle Draco. 

“Hugo, Manon, come here,” Anaïs stepped in, understanding just as readily as I did that Draco was here for a reason. 

“Draco’s here to talk to your father, give them some room.” 

Draco laughed and set Hugo down only to pick up Manon and toss her into the air, her squeals of delight echoing throughout the room.

“I’m sorry,” he apologised, catching Manon once more and setting her down despite her demands of “ _encore, encore!”_

“I didn’t mean to interrupt your dinner,” he continued, straightening his suit jacket. “I forget how early you eat these days.” 

“Yeah, it’s just easier, with the little ones,” I explained. 

“Hugo, Manon,” I turned my attention to them. “Come, finish your dessert and then it’s time for your bath.” 

Anaïs returned then, eating her own Cornetto, floating two across the room to Draco and I with a grin.

“You’re smart, Draco,” she quipped. “Arriving just in time for dessert!”

“I planned it,” he shot back. “Stood outside your door until I knew it was time.” 

We sat in a comfortable silence, eating our ice cream, Draco pulling ridiculous faces at Manon and Hugo, their giggles the only sound for the time being. 

“Ok, _allez_ _-_ _oop_ _!”_ Anaïs called, standing and clapping her hands twice, getting Manon and Hugo’s attention from Draco’s antics. 

“Time for your bath,” she instructed. 

“But _maman_ , I don’t wanna go,” Hugo whinged immediately. 

He looked at me imploringly, switching to Italian.

“Papa, can I stay?” 

I glanced at Draco. 

Of course, nothing about Draco’s appearance or demeanour gave anything away, but I knew the unannounced appearance of my best mate meant something was wrong. 

“Sorry, _cucciolo_ ,” I told him, kissing the top of his head. “You’ve got more ice cream on your face than in your tummy. Time to wash up.” 

Another kiss to a pouting Manon, and Draco and I headed for the comfortable chaise lounges in the garden. 

I sat and watched as Draco took his habitual place on the chaise across from mine, waiting for him to speak first.

He ran a hand through his hair and leant his elbows on his knees and I couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow. 

Draco did not run his hands through his hair and muss it up, you realise. 

“I…” he began and stopped, running his hand through his hair again. 

“I’m in for it bad,” he said finally, blue-grey eyes meeting mine, an almost dazed expression on his face.

I didn’t say anything for a moment.

Couldn’t.

What was Draco even talking about?

Certainly not Harry? 

“What do you mean?” I asked finally, blinking bewilderedly. 

“What do you _mean_ , what do I mean?” he demanded, bending his right knee up to relax on the chaise and glaring at me. 

“Harry, of course.” 

I frowned, trying to figure out what the bloody hell to say to that. 

“Erm…” I began, quite eloquently. 

“Blaise, I’m fucking madly in love with Harry fucking Potter, and I’m having a bit of a crisis about it,” Draco spat out, eyes flaring dangerously. “Your job, as best friend, is to reassure me a bit.” 

“Draco,” I reasoned, still baffled. “Is this… I mean, is this _really_ news to you?” 

“What?” he demanded, staring up at me in surprise. 

“I mean, the fact that you and Potter are completely besotted with each other has been obvious to anyone with eyes since the night I outed you two at the Magpie.” 

“No, Blaise,” he sighed, resting his head in his hands for a second, then dragging both hands through his hair as though he were about to tear it out, and now I was beginning to get properly nervous. 

Draco Malfoy, purposely fucking his hair up. 

Repeatedly. 

It was enough to make anyone who knew him just a tad nervous. 

“This is different,” he insisted, resting his forehead in his palm, staring at the ground between his feet. 

“Because it’s Potter?” I asked, deciding to throw caution to the wind. 

“No,” he replied immediately. 

Bullshit. 

I didn’t even have to say it aloud. 

A small pause, then, timidly, almost sheepishly:

“…. yes…” 

“So what brought this sudden panic about?” I asked, waving my hand in Draco’s direction to indicate him and his general sense of despondency. 

“Nothing. I mean, we were just… nothing.”

I groaned inwardly and rolled my eyes.

“Merlin, Draco, please don’t tell me you left the poor bloke mid-shag because you’ve suddenly had the clarity to see that he’s the love of your life.” 

“No,” he replied immediately, sounding almost hurt. 

I knew better. 

“It was just after.” 

“Fuck Merlin,” I sighed again, rubbing at my eyes, already wondering if I should text Ron to tell him to tell Harry not to worry and that Draco was just being a skittish fool. 

“Draco,” I sighed again, leaning back in the chaise and looking at him carefully. “Why would you _do_ that? I’m assuming you just fucking disappeared with no explanation, as per usual?” 

He didn’t reply, just swallowed guiltily and kept his gaze focused on the ground between his shoes and I just about smacked him across his stupid, drama-obsessed, _stupid_ , blond head. 

“Honestly, Draco. You’re being a tad dramatic, Luv. It’s not like you’ve never been in love or had relationships before,” I reasoned.

Silence.

“I already _told_ you,” he ground out finally. “This is _different._ ”

“Yeah, well, if you’d like this _different_ thing with Harry that you’ve got going on to continue, might I suggest that you stop disappearing post-shag? 

“I don’t have the most experience in the world, but I _do_ know it’s not the most boyfriendliest of things to do.” 

Merlin, the hoops I’d have had to jump through if I’d pulled this shit with Anaïs. 

“I didn’t just leave,” Draco huffed, pulling his knees up beneath his chin and gazing at me finally with eyes that seemed entirely too huge for his face. 

“I told him I forgot I had dinner plans with you.” 

“I’m sure Potter thought nothing of it,” I drawled, tossing a pillow at him. 

We sat in silence for a moment; me contemplating the stars above, and Draco chewing nervously on his thumbnail, which let me know that he was right worked up over this whole Potter business. 

Mussing up his hair.

Biting his nails.

“What is it that you’re worried about?” I asked finally. 

No answer.

Merlin, but Draco could be difficult to deal with. 

“I mean, you know he’s mad for you, too, right?” 

Still no answer, aside from an almost imperceptible heightened chewing on said thumbnail.

Aha. 

So, our little dragon wasn’t sure his darling Harry reciprocated his feelings?

Even though we’d been friends for years now, it still surprised me how delicate and insecure Draco could be. 

“Draco, you _know_ he’s mad for you,” I ventured, after a slight pause. 

“I mean,” I continued, shaking my head and staring at my hands. “It’s obvious to anyone who looks at the two of you.” 

“What happens when he leaves?” he asked suddenly, his voice so small I barely heard him.

“Draco, Potter’s not leaving anytime soon,” I assured him. 

“I mean, so long as you stop doing idiotic things like ditching him post-shag for no reason,” I added. 

“He will,” Draco insisted, still sounding very far away, and I would have bet several Galleons that he hadn’t even heard what I’d just said. 

“One of us has to,” he continued, and I frowned. 

Really, now he was just being too much. 

Even for Draco. 

“What in Merlin’s name do you even mean, Draco? One of you has to?” I sat up and scooted forward so that my feet were planted on the ground and I could look him in the eye. 

“This isn’t some weird prophecy or something you stumbled across at work or something, is it?” 

“Hmm?” he asked, shaking his head and looking at me as though he’d just realised I was there, sat directly across from him. 

“No,” he answered, shaking his head again. “No, nothing like that, but…”

He heaved a sigh and began chewing on his thumbnail again. 

“He’s either going to leave,” he began again, sounding panicked. “Or he’s going to die.”

Draco paused again, brow furrowed.

“Or _I’m_ going to die.

“That’s the only way relationships _can_ go. You either break up or one of you dies,” he added, and I could only stare at him. 

Of fucking course. 

If anyone could turn the simple, joyful act of falling madly in love into a bloody existential crisis, it was Draco. 

His eyes blinked back up at me then, looking for all the world like my little Hugo’s did when he needed reassurance that everything was going to be okay. 

“Merlin, Draco,” I sighed. 

“You’ve got me there. 

“I suppose, in some morose way, you’re right, but I think you and Potter have got some time before you need to start worrying about one of you slipping beyond the veil.” 

He snorted then, and I couldn’t help but empathise a bit

If there were another two wizards alive who’d had as many brushes with death as those two…. 

My mobile pinged suddenly, and I glanced down to see a response from Ron. 

“Come on,” I instructed, standing and grabbing Draco’s arm.

“What?” was all he managed before I whisked us away to the Weasleys’. 

***

_Saturday Evening_

_10 October 2009_

_Hermione’s POV_

“Well, we’re not getting any younger, are we, Mione?” Ron reasoned, and I sighed. 

“Obviously not, Ron, but with everything going on at work right now… maybe it’s better to wait until the Erised case wraps up.” 

“Hon, the way both of our jobs go, there’s never going to be a dull lull where the timing will be right,” Ron reminded me and I sighed.

He was right, of course. 

And I did want to have children, but whenever Ron and I got around to having “the” discussion, my brain would suddenly bombard me with all these thoughts about did Ron and I really have enough time in our lives to properly raise a child and would either of us really be willing to relinquish some of our work duties to look after a child, and were we really financially ready to raise a child, and not just the everyday expenses, but paying for the holidays and the sports equipment and the dance or music lessons that I was sure we were going to want our child to explore and….

“Harry,” Ron said suddenly, snapping me out of my thoughts. “What are you doing here, mate?” 

“I dunno,” Harry sighed, slumping into the loveseat across from Ron and me.

His black hair was even more dishevelled than usual, and his jumper and trousers appeared to have just been pulled on in a hurry. 

Actually, I frowned and couldn’t help the little grin quirking at the corner of my mouth, “Harry’s” trousers were definitely much too long for him and definitely not Harry’s.

“Harry, are you wearing Draco’s trousers?” I asked, swishing my wand at him to shorten the legs before he tripped over them. 

“Hmm?” he asked, glancing down as his trouser legs shortened. 

“Oh. Yeah. I guess so.” 

His green eyes were troubled as he continued to frown at the carpet, chewing on his bottom lip.

When he finally looked up at us he looked as though he were about to burst into tears. 

“I think I did something wrong,” he blurted out, eyes darting to the far corner of the room, teeth working at his bottom lip again as though their mauling of his mouth could help him figure out what had gone wrong more quickly. 

“What do you mean?” I asked, leaning forward, ready to wrap Harry in a hug and assure him that, whatever was going on, everything would be alright. 

“Did you and Draco have another row?” Ron asked.

Because it wouldn’t be the first time Harry had shown up at our flat after a row with Draco, which, my brain reminded me, was another thing to consider, seeing as the one-bedroom flat with its pull-out sofa where Harry sometimes slept post-row, would soon be much too small if we _did_ decide to have a baby and…

Stop it, Hermione, I chided myself and brought my attention back to Harry. 

“I don’t know,” he replied. “No?” 

I glanced at Ron, knowing he was thinking the same thing I was. 

After the events of this afternoon, where Draco had placed a ridiculously complicated anti-Disapparating spell on Harry then had shown up here demanding to know where the Dursleys lived, we’d been expecting a visit from Harry.

Not that we’d told Draco anything, obviously. 

But Draco had ways to get information when he wanted and, he wasn’t against using them. 

However, instead of an irate Harry who was on the verge of severely maiming his conniving boyfriend, we had more of a forlorn, kicked-puppy Harry, and I did stand now to cross the space between us and sit beside him to gather Harry into a hug which he reciprocated immediately. 

“Does this have to do with the Dursleys?” I asked and Harry blinked over at me quizzically.

“The Durs…” he started. “Oh. Yeah.” 

“No,” he shook his head and sighed, leaning his head against my shoulder. “Not them.” 

I gave another questioning glance across the coffee table at Ron who shrugged and made an “I have no idea” face. 

“You, erm, wanna talk about it?” Ron tried again. 

“Mm-hmm,” Harry nodded, still frowning at the floor. “I just don’t know where to start. I don’t even know what just happened.” 

“Why… don’t you start with your Aunt and Uncle?” I suggested. “Because that might be a good place to start.”

“And,” I added, a bit sheepishly. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t curious.” 

“Did you tell him? Where they live?” Harry asked, straightening suddenly and looking accusingly at first myself and then Ron. 

“Harry, you know we wouldn’t tell him,” I told him. 

“Not willingly, anyway,” I added, glaring pointedly at Ron. “It appears one of us forgot to throw up their Occlumency shield.”

“I didn’t think I’d have to!” Ron protested, holding his hands up in front of him.

“Really?” Harry shot him a tired yet amused look at the same time as I rolled my eyes and said:

“Honestly, Ronald.” 

“Are they okay?” I asked, turning my attention back to Harry.

“Yeah, they’re fine,” he assured me. “Mostly.” 

“Mostly?” Ron echoed doubtfully. 

“Are you sure, mate? Cause Malfoy looked ready to AK the lot of them and then wait around to AK their ghosts a second time.” 

“Honestly, if you say they’re fine, I’m kind of okay with whatever Malfoy _did_ do to them,” I sniffed, remembering how horribly his Uncle and Aunt had treated him. 

Harry sniggered, then began laughing so hard he doubled over, shoulders shaking.

“It’s kind of perfect,” he admitted, peering up at Ron and I, still laughing. 

“Don’t you _dare_ ever tell Draco I said so, but it’s bloody perfect.”

“Bloody hell, what’d he do?” 

Harry frowned in thought amidst his giggles.

“Erm… I’m not sure how to describe it. 

“He spelled them so that they’re, like, compelled to spout out all their insecurities and imperfections that they try so hard to cover up…” 

Ron and I both guffawed at that. 

Even though I hadn’t really had much interaction with Harry’s Aunt and Uncle, I’d seen enough to know that this particularly creative punishment was perfection. 

“For seventeen years,” Harry added. 

“Merlin,” he sighed. “I almost want to go back and visit them….” 

“Well, good on Draco,” Ron said. “Even though I was kind of hoping he’d fuck them up a bit.” 

“Oh, he did,” Harry assured us, a fond look in his eye as he thought back to the events of this afternoon. 

“Ooh, do tell,” Ron leaned forward anxiously. 

“Let’s just say I doubt there’s any glass in their house that’s not shattered,” Harry said. 

“And he did throw Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon up against the wall and hold them there upside-down for a bit,” he added, a satisfied smile spreading over his face.

“It was kind of hot, honestly,” he admitted. 

"Well… it’s probably good that you think so,” Ron replied with a shrug and I couldn’t help but grin at Harry.

“I’d imagine protective, powerful Draco’s quite sexy,” I agreed, slinging one arm around Harry and pulling him back to me, remembering there was some sort of crisis at hand.

“So he came along, knight-in-shining-armour-like, and dealt with your nasty relatives,” I continued. 

“What’s going on now? Why are you here and not lavishing him with your affection or one of your famous debt-cancelling blow jobs?” 

Harry elbowed me in the ribs and threw me a little glare as he straightened away from me, pretending to be in a huff. 

“I _was_ ,” he retorted, crossing his arms in front of him and scowling down at the coffee table. 

“How’d you think you did something wrong then?” Ron asked, frowning, and I threw him a dirty look. 

“What? When are blowjobs ever the wrong answer?” he defended himself and Harry groaned.

“That’s not when he disappeared,” he snapped, resting his head in his hands, shoving his fingers deep into his messy locks. 

“We were…” he sighed. 

“We were… I dunno… _fucking_ I guess,” Harry continued. 

“… and damn, it was _good_ , too,” he added, almost to himself and I willed myself not to chuckle at how adorably in love our Harry was. 

“And then, I dunno, he sort of… paused and got all weird, and then, when we were done he started getting dressed in a hurry muttering something about being late for dinner at Blaise’s.

“Which is utter _bullshit_ ,” he informed us, lest we hadn’t already suspected as much.

Ron frowned suddenly and reached for his mobile on the coffee table.

“Blaise texted me a little while ago,” he told us. “I ignored it… assumed it was for work.” 

“He wants to know if Harry’s here.” 

Ron’s eyes scanned Blaise’s message as he raised the mobile closer to his face, thumbs typing out a response.

“Says Draco’s just being a skittish fool?” he added, looking at Harry quizzically. 

Harry looked blankly back at Ron and I frowned, starting to piece together the clues of the evening.

Before I could get too far, Blaise and Draco appeared suddenly.

“Lo,” Blaise greeted us, tugging a clearly unwilling Draco forward as he crossed the reception.

“I think these two have a little conversation that needs to happen in private. Mind if they use your garden?” 

Blaise gestured from Draco, who was looking anywhere but Harry, Ron, and I, to Harry, who was now sitting with his arms crossed, angled away from Draco, staring a hole into the corner. 

Merlin, these two boys were stubborn, I sighed to myself as I nudged Harry encouragingly.

“You are _absolutely_ right, Blaise,” I agreed. “And, while they do, perhaps the three of us could engage in a positively lewd, extremely detailed conversation of all sorts of exceptionally heterosexual sex acts…” 

“Let’s go, Potter,” Draco interrupted suddenly as Harry turned to give me an absolutely horrified stare.

Draco grabbed Harry by the elbow and steered him outside and Blaise took a seat beside Ron, laughing.

“Good one, Granger,” he praised. “I don’t think my method could have got them on their way any more quickly.” 

“So,” he continued, propping one ankle up on his opposite knee. “What were you two up to before our favourite duo came barrelling into your evening?” 

He pulled out his mobile.

“Need to text Anaïs that I’m here,” he explained. “Didn’t mean to leave her at home with the kiddos all alone.” 

“How do you two manage both of them with work and Anaïs travelling and all?” Ron asked, frowning.

Blaise shrugged.

“We make do. Her mum and dad look after them from time to time. We bring them to daycare. We wonder what the hell we got ourselves into a hell of a lot.”

“Why?” he asked suddenly, eyes darting excitedly between Ron and I. “News to share?”

“No,” Ron shook his head. “Just, as it were, that’s what we were discussing before Harry arrived.”

“Ah.” 

“Any words of wisdom for two hard-working people considering starting a family? Strong feelings one way or the other?” I asked, grinning as Blaise frowned. 

“Honestly, I want to tell you to do it because it’s the best decision you’ll ever make but at the same time tell you to run in the opposite direction because only a fool would willingly give up that much sleep for two screaming little monsters.”

Ron and I both sniggered at that, but I couldn’t help but notice the genuine smile that flickered across Blaise’s face and the loving gleam he got in his eye as he thought of his two adorable children back home.

And, Merlin, were they bloody adorable. 

Which was also something that worried me. 

If our babies turned out even half as cute as Blaise’s, they’d have Ron wrapped around their little finger in no time. 

“I don’t know how to describe it,” Blaise added, still looking off in the distance.

“It’s, like, you have this little creature that you love more than you can even describe, and who you’d give your life for in a heartbeat, but… at the same time, you just… want to strangle it.” 

Blaise mimed strangling someone then grinned at Ron and I sheepishly. 

“Hard to explain the sentiment, really.”

“No,” I replied, eyeing Ron, then Harry, now deep in conversation with Draco outside. “I think I know exactly what you mean….” 

***

_Saturday Evening_

_10 October 2009_

_Draco’s POV_

“They weren’t _really_ going to talk about that,” Harry informed me huffily and I barely suppressed a groan of irritation as I rounded on him.

“I know that, Potter,” I growled, yanking him over to the low concrete wall delineating the Weasley’s garden and sat him down so that we were facing each other, straddling the wall. 

My bravado fell away completely the moment he looked up at me, those goddamned eyes of his full of questioning and hurt because of course, Harry had no idea what the fuck was going on, and that was all my goddamned fault. 

I glanced away to my left, vaguely aware that I was licking my lips nervously as my hand’s reached for Harry’s, oddly seeking their comfort, even though Harry himself was the cause of my current melodramatic anxiety. 

I breathed out a sigh of relief I hadn’t even known I was holding in when Harry’s hands wrapped around my own.

“Hey,” he said softly, tugging gently on one of my hands and I shifted my gaze over to him. 

“Merlin, Harry, your eyes,” I muttered, closing mine.

Because it’d been his eyes that had done me in.

We’d been fucking.

No, that wasn’t the right word.

But fuck that term ‘ _making_ _love_ ;’ it was bloody awful and still fell horribly shy of what Harry and I had been doing. 

All I know is that I’d been drowning in the taste, the feel, the sound, and scent of him and then I’d opened my eyes to be met by his impossibly green ones, so fucking open and beautiful and then it’d slammed into me like the proverbial ton of bricks. 

The fact that Harry was my literal world and that there was very little that mattered outside of keeping him safe, and happy, and loved. 

The terrifying realisation that, now that I’d had Harry, I would never be able to go back to _not_ having him. 

And _fuuuuuuuuucccck_ but I hadn’t been ready to go there yet. 

As Blaise had mentioned, this wasn’t the first time I’d fallen in love.

But when had anything concerning Harry ever been the usual? 

Everything, where Harry was concerned, kicked me into overdrive and took me to extremes that I hadn’t even imagined existed. 

“My… eyes?” he was repeating, sounding just as confused as he ought to, given the circumstances.

“I like your eyes, Potter,” I sighed, eyes still closed. “They’re bloody wonderful.” 

“Oh. Okay. Erm… I… like your eyes, too,” he replied earnestly, and I couldn’t help but chuckle. 

“This isn’t a compliment back and forth, you nutter,” I informed him, opening my eyes, but still not mustering up the courage to look at him, so I still focused my attention somewhere to my left.

“Why are you nervous?” he asked suddenly, and I frowned.

“I’m not…” I began.

“Yes you are,” he cut me off. “You always look to your left and set your mouth into a firm line when you’re nervous.” 

I did look at him then.

Did I? 

Fuck.

I was going to have to work on that.

Not just for Harry, but for professional reasons, too. 

I sighed and shut my eyes again, thinking back to the conversation with Mum nearly a month ago. 

“ _I don’t think you’ve ever really had a chance to be the whole, real you with someone before,” she’d said._

_Then, her knowing little smile when I’d scoffed that I was my real self around lots of people._

_“I have a suspicion the sort of relationship you’re in with Harry will require a different sort of intensity.”_

Well, thanks, Mum. 

That had certainly been an understatement. 

_“Try to keep this little conversation tucked away in one of your brain’s many little compartments, and, when you feel exposed and the need to shut part of you off, don’t pull away._ ” 

Now, the question was, could I? 

“Draco,” Harry’s voice called me back to reality as his hands cupped my face, forcing me to confront those ridiculous eyes of his. 

“Please talk to me,” he begged, his lips gently brushing against mine as he did so, his face was held so close to mine. 

“I’m sorry,” he added. “I don’t know what I did to make you upset, but I’m sorry. Whatever it is.” 

And if that didn’t just break me right there. 

I gathered up all the courage I could muster, which, let’s be honest, wasn’t a whole shit ton… I was a Slytherin, after all, and not exactly working with Gryffindor reserves, here. 

“Harry,” I half-groaned, half-chuckled, pulling him closer so that his top half was pulled right up against me. 

“I’m not angry with you. You didn’t _do_ anything… I just… I… well… the truth is that you terrify me, frankly.” 

“Me?” his head jerked up, eyes flaring slightly. “ _You’re_ the one who was running around all afternoon showing off how powerful you are.” 

“I…” I paused and shook my head, trying to gather my thoughts. “That’s not what I meant.”

“I _liked_ it. It was sexy as hell,” Harry confided, arms coming up to wrap themselves around my neck, and he leaned in again to brush his lips with my own, and I gave up on the whole trying to think and gather my thoughts plan. 

Which, (one part of my brain refused to shut down so easily), was really what the compartmentalising business Mum was talking about _was_ , wasn’t it? 

Thinking and planning your next words and actions and being ahead by about three moves, like a massive, live-action chess match. 

Maybe I ought to try Harry’s method of just blurting out whatever popped into my head, completely unfiltered — the thought managed to flutter through my brain before I managed to shut that last portion of my brain up and concentrate on kissing Harry back properly. 

“What _did_ you mean, then?” he asked, pulling away far too quickly for my liking and staring up at me enquiringly. 

Don’t think, Draco, I told myself. Just blurt out whatever the fuck. 

“Because you’re amazing and I’m completely mad for you.”

See. 

That wasn’t so bad, was it? 

I was, of course, looking off left again and I could feel my mouth pinching into its habitual thin line now that Harry had pointed it out, and I quickly forced myself to stare back and meet Harry’s eyes squarely. 

He was staring up at me with a tiny smile and a look I couldn’t quite place. 

I don’t think it was a bad look. 

But I wasn’t sure I liked it. 

“Do you really think that?” he asked, smile widening slightly. “That I’m amazing?”

I frowned down at him, puzzled.

“Don’t you?” 

He shrugged, all adorable and sheepish-like.

“I dunno… think it’d be pretty weird for me to go running around telling everyone I thought I was amazing. Would probably make me kind of the opposite.” 

He frowned. 

“Why would you thinking I’m amazing make you be so weird and then run away to Blaise?” 

StopthinkingDracostopthinkingDracostopthinkingDracostop…

“Because I wasn’t quite ready to admit _how_ amazing I think you are and it startled me.” 

I took a deep breath and let it out, definitely ignoring the fact that I was once again looking towards my left (but dammit, was I really that obvious?)

“You really are, though,” I ploughed forward. 

“Amazing, I mean… and I’m sorry, it’s just been… a really weird day, and I’ve had my guard down and…” 

Harry smiled and leant forward again, rubbing his nose against mine, and when the fuck did that become something I fucking adored and wished he’d do all the damned time? 

“You don’t have to say it,” he told me, pulling back and giving me that look.

The one I wasn’t sure if I liked or not. 

The one that made me wonder if maybe Harry _was_ a Legilimens, and a thousand times more skilled than I was. 

Maybe his Occlumency skills were just as good and he could sequester away the thoughts he didn’t want me to see. 

Because I was pretty damned sure Harry was reading my mind right now. 

“Just tell me you need some alone time next time,” he encouraged hands trailing down my arms to grasp my hands once more to give them a little squeeze.

Alone time.

Fuck.

Why hadn’t I thought of that? 

Oh. Right.

Because I was raised to be the heir of a fucking idiot who worshipped a megalomaniac both of whom thought ‘alone time’ equalled ‘thinking for oneself,’ and Morgana forbid that should happen. 

“Yeah, sure,” I replied.

“I mean it,” Harry told me, tugging at my hands and urging them to wrap around his back, like he needed to convince me to do so, fucking bastard. 

“I get that this relationship is weird and awkward sometimes,” he told me, kissing me as he clasped his own hands behind my neck and pulled me down for a kiss. 

“And I understand your need for space, really,” he continued, and I could feel the smile spreading across his face even as my eyes slid shut and I forced the stupid thinking out of my brain again to focus on kissing him back. 

“Just… tell me so,” he managed, legs hitching up to fasten around my waist as Harry leant backwards, pulling me down with him.

“M’kay,” I promised, much more focused on pressing back down onto Harry with as much enthusiasm as he was pushing up into me and keeping his stupid mouth occupied with more kissing so he didn’t make me spill any more of my secrets tonight. 

“Oy!” Blaise’s voice cut across the garden and Harry and I both groaned in frustration.

“I only brought you here so you two could apologise. 

“Save the actual making up for when you’re back at yours, yeah?” 

“Fuck off, Blaise,” Harry ground out, and I caught sight of his hand, rather elegantly, flipping Blaise off before I managed to Apparate the two of us out of there and back home where we belonged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG. I'm so excited because I've got the entire rest of the story more or less "drafted" out and it's going to start just fireballing or whatever from here on out. 
> 
> Can't wait to flesh out my outline and share with you all the stupid crazy stalker and start to wrap up all them loose ends soon!


	33. A Date with Dudley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry, as instructed by Draco, meets Dudley at a local pub.

_Wednesday Evening_

_14 October 2009_

_Harry’s POV_

I stood in front of the mirror, frowning at my jumper, despite the mirror’s assurance that I looked “ravishing,” and groaned, shoving my hands through my hair in frustration.

“Are you getting all dressed up for your date with Dudley?” Draco asked, leaning casually against the doorframe of the closet. 

“Should I be nervous?” he teased, winking as he took a sip of tea from the mug he held in his left hand. 

I rolled my eyes, letting my hands fall to my sides.

“Yes,” I retorted. “ _Very_.” 

Draco set his mug down on the island of drawers in the middle of the closet and crossed over to my side, his eyes flicking over the mess, reminding me that I really needed to tidy my side up before my boyfriend blew another fuse. 

When I had officially moved in a few weeks ago, Kreacher in tow, I’d nearly doubled over in laughter to discover that, instead of downsizing any of his massive wardrobe to make room for mine, Draco had merely added more space to his already enormous closet. 

A smaller side, made for, you know, a normal-sized wardrobe. 

A smaller side that I, for some reason, could never keep neat even despite Kreacher _and_ Bessie popping up once a week to tidy up. 

If I wasn’t certain it would’ve sent Draco into another rage, this time actually burning down the Dursley’s house, I probably would have tried joking that my inability to put clothing away properly stemmed from having grown up in a cupboard with no proper closet or dresser to speak of. 

“I wouldn’t have pushed so hard for you to talk to him if I’d have known I had any competition,” he joked, hands tugging and arranging my jumper and the button-down beneath it so that they did exactly what I’d been trying to get them to do for the past five minutes. 

“Well, he _is_ blond,” I dead-panned, nodding sagely and Draco snorted and laughed quietly.

“Wow, Potter. You decide you have a type and you just go all out, hmm?” 

While Dudley may have lost a considerable amount of weight and, according to Draco, had also undergone a considerable attitude adjustment, he was still not what one would call sexy in any sense of the word.

Blond or not, he certainly couldn’t hold a candle to Draco. 

And I was pretty sure that was in anyone’s opinion, and not just my very-Draco-obsessed one. 

“You’re joining us later, right?” I reminded him. 

He insisted he had something to do for work and would be running late; I was sure there was no work involved and Draco only wanted me to stumble my way through an endless half-hour of awkward conversation with Dudley on my own before he showed up.

“Don’t worry,” he reassured me, giving me a quick kiss. “I’ll meet you just as soon as I finish up.” 

“Mmm,” I replied, pulling him back for another kiss. “Finish up soon, then.” 

***

A short while later, I found myself ambling along Camden High Street, eyes seeking the large, noticeable black exterior of the pub with The World’s End emblazoned in gold lettering where Dudley had decided we’d meet for a few pints. 

I found him easily enough, sitting at one of the bars when I entered, and he raised his pint in greeting as I ambled up to the bar.

“Hi, Harry,” he greeted, looking just as awkward and nervous as I was.

“I would’ve ordered you a pint, then realised I have no idea what you two like. Paid for this first round, though. Just have to let the barman know your order… your… he’s coming, right?” 

The barman came over just then, and I ordered my pint from the impressive lineup of taps and picked out a blond ale for Draco. 

“Where is your… boyfriend?… partner?” Dudley seemed uncertain of what to call Draco.

“Boyfriend,” I agreed, taking a sip of my pint and taking a look around at the place. It looked like a fantastic pub, huge, with lots of light flooding in from the glass ceilings and a cosy-looking mezzanine upstairs, and I knew I’d be suggesting it as a possibility when Draco and I met up with Hermione, Ron, Blaise, and Pansy for another night out.

“He had to do something for work, but he’ll be here soon.” 

“We could’ve waited to grab his pint,” Dudley reasoned. “So it’ll be cold when he gets here.”

Oh. 

Right.

Muggles had to worry about shit like that. 

I’d nearly forgotten what it was like to drink a lukewarm beer that had been sitting on a bar table for far too long without a stasis charm to keep it cool. 

“Don’t worry,” I said quickly. “I can… erm… I’ll… make sure it stays cold.” 

Draco was insistent that Dudley had changed, and my cousin was being downright pleasant so far, but I still wasn’t sure how he felt about magic.

Especially after Draco’s visit to his parents’ house over the weekend. 

“Oh. Well, okay,” he agreed. 

“Do you want to find a table upstairs? It’s nice on the mezzanine with the light shining in.” 

I nodded and grabbed my two pints then followed Dudley up the fire-engine-red spiral stairs adjacent to the bar to the mezzanine, where we found an empty table near the wrought-iron railing that overlooked the main pub downstairs. 

I set my pints down and gave a casual wave of my hand towards them to keep them cool then looked up to see Dudley watching me in fascination.

“Did you just do…” he trailed off as I, on a whim, waved my hand towards his pint. 

“Now your beer won’t get warm,” I informed him with a grin.

“Bloody hell, that’s cool,” he practically sighed in awe.

“So…” I began awkwardly, despite the sense of relief I felt at Dudley’s decidedly excited reaction to magic that was so refreshingly opposite of how he’d been as a child. 

“Erm…” he said at exactly the same time, and we both took an equally awkward sip from our pints.

“What does… Dray-coh?” he sounded out carefully, and I nodded for him to continue. 

“Draco,” he repeated, as though to commit the name to memory. “What does he do? 

“I mean, what sort of jobs do…” he glanced around surreptitiously, and I realised he was worried about being overheard.

“Don’t worry,” I encouraged him with another smirk. “They can’t hear us.” 

He frowned.

“You lot have a spell for that, too?” 

I nodded, and Dudley chuckled and shook his head.

“Jesus, I wish I could relive my childhood and be nicer to you,” he confided. 

“I mean, not just… you know… so you could do cool magic shit for me, but…” 

He took another sip of his pint and averted his gaze.

“Erm. Thanks, Dudley,” I replied earnestly. “So, erm, I think you were… maybe going to ask what sort of jobs wizards do?” 

“Yeah,” he said nodding. “I mean, I don’t know why, but I just sort of assumed the jobs you have are different? Or are they?” 

“I think they sort of correlate to Muggle jobs,” I mused. “Like, my best mate, Ron… he’s the one who used to scream into the telephone because he didn’t know how they worked?” 

Dudley grinned and nodded.

“Red hair?”

“Yeah, that’s him. He’s an Auror, and that’s more or less like a detective… but with more training. Years more.” 

“Draco…” I paused, frowning. 

“Honestly, this is going to sound a bit odd,” I admitted sheepishly. “But, I’m not quite sure what it is he does.”

Dudley frowned back. 

“Yeah, that’s a bit odd,” he agreed.

“I mean, I _know_ what he does, but,” I paused again, trying to think of the easiest way to explain an Unspeakable to Dudley. 

“He works for a department in the Ministry for Magic called the Department of Mysteries, his official job title being what’s called an Unspeakable. 

“No one knows exactly _what_ they do except that they work in one of four areas: love, thought, death, or time. And it’s all highly confidential, obviously. 

“I think it’s mostly research and writing reports and then advising the ministry. 

“ _Lots_ of research,” I added, rolling my eyes as I remembered the latest pile of books and parchments Draco had brought home with him. 

Dudley looked horrified.

“That sounds awful,” he stated. “Like… endless uni, or something.”

I nearly spit out my mouthful of beer at Dudley’s apt description.

“You know, I think, if I ever need to describe Draco’s profession ever again, I’m borrowing that.” 

“So, you two were mates back at school, then?” 

I actually did sort of spit out my beer this time.

“No,” I managed, wiping a stray dribble away with my sleeve. “Definitely not.” 

Dudley looked intrigued at my reaction, so I continued.

"His family were… on the opposite side during the war, and I was… kind of leading the good side, so, erm… you know. Not the best formula for a friendship.” 

“Oh, right,” Dudley nodded. “Was his dad really that maniac’s right-hand man?” 

I nodded.

“I think he kind of lost favour at the end, but yeah. 

“He was one of his biggest supporters throughout the years and a truly evil man.” 

“He’s dead then?” Dudley asked, looking genuinely relieved. “Did you? I mean, was it you that, erm…”

“No,” I shook my head. 

“He got sentenced to Azkaban, the wizard jail. And, erm, remember those Dementors?” 

Dudley nodded and shuddered a bit.

“Well, yeah. That.” 

“You’d think that’d be encouragement enough not to fuck up in your world,” he commented, and I nodded in agreement. 

“Explains a bit, though,” he continued. “No offence, mate, but your Draco-person is a bit scary.” 

I chuckled, thinking of what kind of first impression I’d have had if I’d “met” Draco on Saturday, eyes blazing, throwing my parents up against the wall while he magically shattered every bit of glass in the house. 

“Erm… yeah, he can certainly be intimidating when he wants to be,” I admitted. 

“But don’t worry, I think you’ll be meeting a very different side to Draco tonight.” 

“It makes sense,” Dudley shrugged. “If I ever found out someone treated Alice like that, and I could do that sort of thing, I’d do the same.” 

“What do you do?” he asked, bringing the subject back to his original question. 

“For work?”

“Me? I’m a… professional Quidditch player.”

Dudley stared at me blankly.

“It’s… kind of like wizard football.” 

“Bloody hell, you’re, like, famous!”

I shrugged. 

If only he knew. 

“And it’s really a lot like football, then?”

“Merlin, no,” I laughed. “Not at all. 

“It’s played about thirty to sixty metres up in the air on broomsticks, for starters. 

“And there are four balls and three goalposts to worry about.” 

Dudley was staring at me, pint paused halfway to his mouth.

“Wow.”

“What about you?” I realised I’d been dominating the conversation and hoped I didn’t seem rude. “What did you end up doing?” 

I knew Uncle Vernon had hoped Dudley would follow his footsteps at Grunnings, but something told me he hadn’t.

“Real estate,” he shrugged. “Nothing exciting. Pays the bills.”

“So… your mum and dad… they were _both_ wizards, right?” Dudley seemed determined to keep the conversation focused on the wizarding world, I guess. 

“Erm. Yeah.” 

“So… being a wizard… it’s kind of like a gene, then? Like, they passed it on to you?” 

“I… yeah. Something like that.” 

“But… _your_ mum was _my_ mum’s sister, and _she’s_ not…”

“A witch?” I supplied. “No, she’s definitely not.” 

“And my grandmum and granddad weren’t either, so…” 

“I don’t really know how it works, Dudley,” I admitted again with a shrug. 

“I know there are non-wizard couples that have wizard children and there are wizard couples that have non-wizard children. 

“I just assume sometime in the past, one of our ancestors were born non-wizard from a wizard family.” 

“Do you…” Dudley began tearing the paper coaster in his hands nervously. 

“Do you think… maybe I could have that wizard gene or something?” 

I stared at him, unsure as to how to answer politely. 

“Well, I wouldn’t know… but I think you would have had a _few_ clues, at least, by now.” 

“No,” he rolled his eyes and chucked the remainder of the coaster at me good-naturedly. 

“Not _me_ , silly. I mean… do you think there’s a chance _my…_ you know, Callum, and Violet, and Alfie…?” he trailed off, and my mouth fell open, realisation dawning on me.

Dudley, doing everything he could to be helpful to Draco on Saturday.

Dudley, seeming indifferent towards his parents.

Dudley, obsessed with wizard genes, and what wizards do after school. 

“It’s… very possible, I’d assume,” I replied honestly. “Why?” 

“Well… it’s just… you remember how odd stuff would happen around you when you were a kid?” 

I nodded, and Dudley took a deep breath, pressing forward. 

“Well… a lot of odd stuff happens around them, too. 

“Not, you know, _exactly_ the same. Like, none of them has ever ended up on top of the school kitchens, or anything.” 

“That was pretty extreme,” I admitted, downing the remainder of my pint, because, fuck, my cousin had pretty much just informed me that his kids were wizards. 

“So, what kind of stuff?”

“Well, it’s hard to say, because I think I just rationalised it a lot while Callum was younger, and so I don’t know how well I’m remembering some of this, but, like, we would find piles of lima beans in the plants or under the sofa…”

“That’s classic,” I laughed. “Any of my mates with kids complain about finding deposits of disliked veg all over the place.” 

“Alice and I just thought he was stuffing them in his pockets or a napkin and then hiding them.” 

Dudley seemed amused as he also finished the last of his pint.

“ _You_ never did that,” he added, as an afterthought.

“I was just happy to eat any food that was offered to me,” I reminded Dudley, a little more relaxed thanks to the pint. 

Dudley winced.

“Right. Erm… sorry,” he apologised again.

“Not really your fault, but thanks,” I replied. 

“So… Callum’s a wizard, huh?” I grinned, remembering the Christmas card that had come last year, and how I’d liked the impish grin spread across the eldest boy’s face. 

“Christ, Harry,” Dudley rested his forehead in his massive palm and stared across the table at me with a rueful grin. 

“The other week he came home from a sleepover with bright blue hair and Alice lost her mind. She called the other boy’s mum to give her an earful and the poor woman had no idea what she was talking about!” 

“So, Alice doesn’t have any idea then?” 

“How _could_ she?” Dudley asked. “I mean, she knows there are weird things that happen around them, but she keeps finding ways to explain it away.

“I mean, so did I, until one day I remembered you ending up on that roof and it sort of clicked.” 

“We’re getting my Harry all caught up, then?” Draco’s voice suddenly appeared as he sat on the stool beside me, setting another round of pints on the table. 

“The barman said he remembered what you ordered,” he explained sliding one of the pints in front of Dudley and another before me. 

“Thanks,” Dudley said, and I could tell that he was just a tad nervous. 

Not that I blamed him after the spectacular show Draco had put on last Saturday. 

“Dudley was just telling me about the magical bursts his kids have. His eldest might be a Metamorphmagus… changed his hair blue and everything!” 

“I know,” Draco replied, taking a large sip of his pint and smirking across the table at Dudley. “Does Alice still think it was George?” 

“Yes, and she’s quite upset with George’s mum for refusing to admit that she allowed them to dye his hair during the sleepover.

“So, you really can read minds, huh? Does it get annoying?” 

“It’s not exactly mind-reading,” Draco frowned. “It’s… it’s more like… like I’m watching a video clip you recorded on your phone with your commentary on it… does that make sense?” 

“Yeah,” Dudley nodded. “Yeah, actually, it does.” 

“Is Callum the only one?” I asked and Dudley laughed.

“No,” he said with an emphatic shake of his head. 

“Actually, it was little Alfie who got me thinking about it, really. He’s… well. 

“You know how I said we found ways to rationalise Callum. Like, maybe it’s natural for all toddlers to go hide lima beans in the hallway plant and whatnot.”

“I hid my corn,” Draco volunteered. “I _hate_ corn.” 

“Who hates corn?” I demanded, scrunching up my face and giving him a weird look. 

“Me,” he replied. “I do. I just told you so.” 

“I’m sorry, Dudley, what about Alfie, though?” 

“Well, he does things that you really have trouble rationalising,” Dudley explained, talking at the table, brow furrowed in thought. 

“Like, you’d tuck him in for the night, then find half his stuffed animals that had been put away on the shelves in the crib with him next morning. 

“Or a box of biscuits that we store high up in the cupboards so even Callum can’t reach them, empty on the floor, and crumbs all round little Alfie’s mouth. 

“And… this mind-reading thing,” he paused and glanced up at Draco. 

“I don’t know if there’s more than one kind or if he’s like you, but he responds to things I’m only thinking in my head.”

Draco and I were both staring at Dudley in curious surprise.

“What?” he asked, looking somewhat nervous again. 

“Your son, Alfie,” Draco began slowly. “He’s how old?” 

“Four.” 

“And… you suspect he might be a Legilimens?” 

“Look, I don’t know what that word means, but if it means doing that video-watching-with-commentary thing in his mind, then yes.

“I mean, the other day, for example, I was upset because I hadn’t closed a sale like I’d thought I would… and the money was going to go towards a nice holiday for all of us at Christmas…”

“What? Not an enormous pile of presents?” I teased. 

Dudley smiled sheepishly.

“We don’t do presents at Christmas,” he confided. “Only a few for their birthdays.

“Mum and Dad think it’s all Alice, of course, but we do a nice holiday at Christmas to spend time together and be a family. Usually somewhere in the UK, but this year, we were hoping to make it to New York… anyway. 

“There we were, waiting outside the school to pick up Callum and Violet, and I’m thinking to myself what a bummer it is we won’t be going to New York, and Alfie looks up and says, ‘It’s okay, Papa, we can go to New York another time’.” 

“You do realise that most Legilimens need to be taught?” I asked. 

“No,” Dudley replied, taking another sip from his pint. “Why would I know that?”

“It’s definitely a learnt skill,” Draco said. 

“Then how do you know if you have it?” Dudley asked, brow furrowed.

“You don’t, necessarily,” Draco replied. “It’s sort of a Dark Arts… erm… obscure magic, if you will. 

“And, it’s a talent, really, like, I dunno… football? 

“A child could have a wonderful talent for football, but you’d never know if you never signed him up for the local kiddie league….” 

“Who taught you?” I asked, suddenly curious. 

“My mum,” Draco replied immediately. “Who else?”

“I dunno. Always assumed Bellatrix.” 

Draco turned to stare at me, horrified.

“ _Bellatrix?_ ” he demanded. “Having _access_ to _my_ mind? I’d be fucking dead.” 

“Who’s Bellatrix?” Dudley asked. 

“My insane Aunt, who’s, thankfully, dead,” Draco replied.

“Damn. So you’ve got a little Metamorphmagus _and_ a baby Legilimens on hand…” I mused. 

“What about Violet?” 

“Honestly, I’ve no idea,” Dudley responded sighing. “I mean, there are lots of things that happen when she’s around, like the telly changing stations back and forth like the kids are fighting over what to watch, but I can’t tell if she’s involved or just there and caught up in Callum and Alfie’s nonsense.

“It’s, I think, sometimes very convenient for her to be the middle child and the only girl… most things she just passes off on her brothers.” 

We all sat in silence for a bit, drinking our pints.

“Look, maybe… hopefully,” Dudley began, twirling his glass in his hands and staring down at it as though it were the most fascinating object he’d ever seen.

“I hope you both realise that what I want is to _support_ my children.”

Dudley glanced quickly at Draco and I, then back down to his pint.

“I… Harry, I’m so sorry, really. 

“I’ve felt horrible about the way we treated you since, you know, the Demon-soul-sucky thing, but I had no idea how to go about doing anything about it. 

“Still don’t, honestly. I mean, all I can do is say I’m truly sorry, and I don’t think that’ll ever nearly be enough, but… all that was compounded, like, a hundred-fold when I had my own kids, and… well… I… I just want to be there for them, and I really don’t know how, in these situations. 

“I imagine they _have_ to know they’re different, and… I want to help them navigate that, so… you know… any advice or help you’d be willing to offer…” 

I could only stare at Dudley for a minute. 

“Dudley,” I began, trying to find the words. “That's… honestly… the nicest thing you could have said to… I dunno… fix our childhood?” 

“Yeah,” he admitted gruffly, not quite meeting my eyes. “Well, I love my kids…”

“No matter what,” he added, staring at both Draco and I bravely. 

“We should meet them,” Draco suggested, leaning one elbow on the table and cradling his chin in his palm. 

“Absolutely,” Dudley agreed, nodding vigorously. “That’d be bloody fantastic.” 

“You should tell Alice,” I added. 

“I know, but…”

“How?” Draco finished for him and Dudley nodded. 

“I think you’re the only one here with experience with that,” I teased, looking over at Draco.

“Yes, and it went horribly,” he reminded me. “I had to Obliviate him.” 

“What’s that mean?” Dudley asked.

“I erased his memory,” Draco replied. 

“I mean, just of the part where we were together. Not _all_ of it,” he amended, seeing the terrified look on Dudley’s face. 

“You didn’t have to erase your entire relationship,” I reasoned. “Just the part where he freaked out about the magic.” 

Why I was offering my current boyfriend relationship advice regarding one of his exes was beyond me, but here I was…. 

“What, so then we’d still be in a relationship, and I’d still have to tell him I was a wizard, and he’d still freak out, and then I could just keep Obliviating him so it’d be like some sick real-life rendition of that stupid ‘ _50 First Dates_ ’ movie?” Draco demanded. 

“But… you _loved_ him.” 

“I _know_ ,” he hissed, eyes flashing, and I took the hint and turned my attention back to Dudley. 

I couldn’t imagine what it’d feel like if I ever had to Obliviate Draco of everything we’d shared.

“So, maybe don’t tell Alice?” Dudley asked. 

“You don’t have to _tell_ her quite yet,” I said, slowly. 

“I mean, could you just say, you know, next time something odd happens, that stuff like that used to happen with me? Then it might be easier to tell her when we’re all together, meeting up for the first time?”

“That could work,” Dudley said slowly. 

“I mean, I don’t know Alice… you do whatever you think is best for you, but…” I glanced at Draco. “It’d be lovely to have you all over for dinner or something. Maybe after the holidays?” 

“It would be,” Draco agreed. “I’d really like to meet Alfie, in particular. He could probably use some pointers… you know… on how to… stay out of minds.” 

“Yeah, that’d all be brilliant,” Dudley said, nodding his head emphatically. 

“I’m really glad you agreed to meet me for a pint, Harry,” he told me earnestly, and I couldn’t help but smile back.

“Me, too, _Big D_.” 

I couldn’t help but throw out his childhood nickname and grin at him cheekily. 

I glanced down at our empty pints, then back up at my cousin, asking if he had time for a third, and final, round. 

He assured me that he did, and our evening continued, the three of us discussing and planning a meeting between Draco and I, and my, apparently, very magical little cousins. 


	34. Glamours, Sandwiches, and Missed Pints

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco and Hermione are at work with Davies and Williams going over their reports from Wednesday night.

_Friday Morning_

_16 October 2009_

_Hermione’s POV_

“Williams, Malfoy, can we go over your reports from Wednesday, and maybe have you talk us through them?” Davies asked, flipping through the file before him. 

Draco and Joshua had both been called on their own respective field investigations Wednesday evening, and I was really hoping we would be able to make some headway on this case today with their insights.

Aside from it being such a long-running case, it was also breaking my heart to hear about all the lives being disrupted by it, and I just wanted this idiot in Azkaban where he belonged. 

In fact, the case had dragged on for so bloody long at this point that Draco and Williams were being allowed to share details that they’d uncovered as secret agents usually only shared with the Minister and the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. 

“They’re a fucking nutter,” Draco muttered from between his fingers, as his face was currently buried in his hands. 

“I’m sorry?” Davies asked, both he and Williams looking up at my colleague, who was, save for his personal life and the sacred space within the four walls of our office, usually the epitome of decorum.

“ _I’m_ sorry,” Draco apologised. “I just don’t know how else to put it. This person is bloody insane.”

He removed his face from his hands and looked over at Williams.

“Do you have anything to add to that?” 

“I think my partner was looking for some discussion around what we actually dealt with on Wednesday,” Williams replied, eyeing Draco warily. 

“What _I_ dealt with was the work of a bloody nutter,” Draco repeated, crossing his arms in front of him as though daring any of us to counter him. 

“Just flip through the files, you’ll see,” he added, nodding his head towards the folders Davies and I had before us. 

“Where did you end up?” Williams asked, eyes flitting up towards Draco as he scooted his chair closer to Davies to peer at the stack of parchment covered in Draco’s neat handwriting.

“Knockturn Alley,” Draco replied as he also scooted closer to me, eyes reading over Williams’ equally meticulous notes he’d given us to peruse. 

“You?” he returned the question, eyes still focused on our file. 

“Another victim. She wasn’t much help,” Williams sighed. “I mean, more of the same, you know.” 

It was true.

While Williams had taken very detailed notes on his undercover visit with another suspected victim of the app, it didn’t really provide any horribly insightful information. At least at first glance, anyway, and I hunkered down with a roll of parchment and my quill at the ready, looking for any sort of clue or bit of new information to jump out at me. 

“What shop did you go to in Knockturn Alley?” Williams asked, frowning, his finger holding his place in Draco’s report as he glanced over at us curiously.

“Does it matter?” Draco returned, eyes not leaving our own report. “They’re all the same.” 

I knew Draco had spent years building partnerships with several of the merchants on Knockturn Alley and wasn’t about to disclose any information that would compromise their identities, even with Davies and Williams. 

“The merchants you spoke with, they’ve both noticed an increase in activity on the alley in the past few months?” Davies clarified. “As in new customers, not the usual Knockturn Alley regulars?” 

“Mmm,” Draco replied, nodding, eyes still riveted to Williams’ report. “What made them stand out was their obvious lack of skulking skills. They didn’t want anyone to see them and it was painfully obvious.” 

“But no one could identify any of these witches or wizards?”

“Not that they’re telling me.”

Draco straightened suddenly and jotted a few notes on his own parchment. 

“And, yes, before either of you ask, I did try and probe into their minds to see if there was anything of use,” he added, smirking up at them before going back to his notes. 

“Of course,” he continued. “Any merchant worth their shop on Knockturn Alley would know to keep any of that sort of information filed well away.”

“It says here you spoke to a particular merchant who is certain she dealt with the creator of the app?” Davies asked, eyes travelling further down the parchment.

Draco nodded. 

“Said they show up in a different glamour every single time and she’s not even sure she’d be able to tell which was the real person behind it," Davies continued.

“A different glamour _each_ _time_?” Davies repeated, looking up from the report at Draco uncertainly. 

“Says here she’s been in contact with this person over twenty times,” he added, glancing back down at Draco’s report. “The time it would take to craft that many glamours….”

“Absolute nutter,” Draco repeated. “Told you.” 

“I’m planning on returning next week in my usual glamour. She, and some of the other merchants, will trust him more and I might be able to get more information.”

“Why didn’t you use your regular field glamour this time?” Williams asked curiously. 

“He’s eighty-seven years old. He wouldn’t have been poking around the alley that time of night,” Draco muttered, still writing. “That’s suppertime, obviously.” 

I couldn’t suppress the giggle that escaped at the realisation that Draco’s fastidious nature extended even to his work glamours. 

“You chose an old-man glamour?” Davies chuckled, clearly as amused as I was. 

“Not some gorgeous, movie-star or fairy-tale-prince-type character? That’s what you youngsters usually choose,” he added, eyes flicking over to Williams teasingly, and I had to wonder what his glamour of choice was. 

“At the risk of sounding incredibly conceited, Davies, I don’t need a glamour to look like either,” Draco shot back, finishing his notes and grinning over at the older man. 

“Touché,” Davies replied, eyes sparkling with laughter as he returned his attention to the report in front of him. “Should probably keep an eye on my daughters if you ever turn up for tea.” 

“Your daughters are fine,” Draco assured him. “But if you’ve any sons, I’d probably lock them up.”

“Williams,” he changed the subject, brow furrowing. “Could you tell us more about the relationship between Mabel and James before she was allegedly hit with the app?” 

“They dated briefly in secondary,” he replied, turning to face Draco and I. 

“…did… you talk to James as well? I don’t see anything in your report about him.” Draco frowned slightly as he thumbed through the rest of Williams’ report. 

“Tried to. He wasn’t home. It’s on the last page,” Williams replied, wide blue eyes looking a bit hurt at Draco’s indirect slight that he’d not thought to find James on his own. 

“Well, yes, but this was Wednesday,” Draco reminded him, seemingly unaware that he’d just hurt Williams’ feelings. “Haven’t you been back?” 

Williams didn’t quite meet Draco’s gaze and he swallowed guiltily.

“Should I have been?” he asked, looking over at Davies for reassurance. 

I had to admit, Draco could be a little intense when he was upset. 

“Well,” Davies shrugged and gave Williams the sort of disapproving look an indulgent father would give his son. “I think we know who amongst us will _not_ be going out for Friday-night pints with his mates.” 

Williams groaned and slumped down in his seat and pulled a sandwich bag out of his pocket. 

“Sorry.” Draco offered a tiny smile of encouragement. 

“It’s just this is the first victim, that we know of, where there’s some sort of previous connection between the two. 

“I think it’d be interesting to see what this… James Hale… has been up to the past couple of weeks.” 

“I’m sorry,” I interrupted suddenly, face turning up in a sort of curious disgust as I focused in on the sandwich Williams was breaking a piece off of to bring to his mouth. 

“What is it that you’re eating?” 

“Is that a peanut butter and jelly sandwich?” Draco asked, smiling gleefully, and Williams looked relieved and smiled back. 

“You’ve heard of them?” he asked at the same time as I blurted out:

“A _what?_ ” 

Davies and Draco chuckled and Williams made a show of popping the bite of offensive sandwich into his mouth and chewing happily, clearly enjoying my horrified face.

“Peanut butter and _jelly?_ ” I repeated, aghast. “On a _sandwich_?”

“Jam, Hermione,” Draco crowed gleefully, nearly doubled over with laughter as he clapped me on the shoulder. 

“It’s _jam._ That’s what they call _jam_ in America.”

“Yeah, and we call trousers pants, too,” Williams shot right back, tearing another piece from his sandwich. 

“I know,” Draco replied, still laughing. “Spent my first couple of weeks in the states thinking I’d walked out of the flat half-dressed because people kept complimenting my pants….” 

“I’m not sure that it being made with jam instead of jelly makes it sound any more appealing,” I admitted, still focused on the sandwich in Williams’ hand.

“Sorry,” I added, trying to smile at Williams, but failing as he popped another bite of sandwich in his mouth and my face twitched in dislike again. 

“I’m sure there are lots of things we eat that seem odd to you, too.” 

“Wanna try?” he asked holding the untouched side of the sandwich out to me ceremoniously. 

“Erm…” I was trying to think of a way to politely decline when Draco interrupted with a laugh.

“No way!” he exclaimed. “I dated an American bloke or two while I was there and even _they_ couldn’t get me to try that.” 

“ _Only_ two?” I smirked, thankful to steer the conversation away from me trying that sandwich. “I’m sure….”

“That’s beside the point,” Draco retorted, glaring at me.

“The point is,” he turned his attention back to Williams, “that I’m not about to start eating peanut butter and jam because of you.” 

He jabbed a finger in Williams’ direction for emphasis, just in case there’d been any doubt. 

“They’re not bad,” Davies stood up for his partner, chuckling as both Draco and I glanced over at him uncertainly. “Saved me from going hungry many-a-time when we had to work late.” 

“Exactly,” Williams piped up, breaking off another bite. “Seeing as I’m not going to be able to go out for pints and will probably have to skip dinner on account of my being stupid and forgetting to follow-up….”

“Skip dinner?” Draco repeated frowning. “Shouldn’t take you that long to get some information out of him.” 

“We’ll see,” he replied, shrugging and finishing off his sandwich. 

“Speaking of pints,” I turned back to Draco. “Are you and H-…your friend joining us for pints tonight?” 

I nearly kicked myself for almost having said Harry’s name aloud, even though I was sure two other Unspeakables would understand the need to keep that information to themselves, had I actually slipped up.

Draco’s eyes flared murderously as he stared down at me for a moment. 

“No,” he said finally. “We have a date.” 

I rolled my eyes. 

Draco could be so dramatic. 

“Roll the date back a bit and go have a pint beforehand,” Davies suggested reasonably, and I grinned back up at Draco, who pretended to ponder the situation.

“You know, just to rub it in, and make me jealous,” Williams scowled jokingly across the table, crossing his arms. 

Draco took a break from his feigned pondering to grin over at Williams.

“Okay, then,” he agreed, finally. “If you insist.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't even know what to say. 
> 
> I'm sorry?


	35. Wizards Are so Wonderfully Weird

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the day before Samhain and Harry and Draco are spending it at the Weasleys.
> 
> We see this scene through the eyes of Ginny's Muggle girlfriend, Micah.

_Friday Afternoon_

_30 October 2009_

_Micah’s POV_

“Are you worried, Mum?” George asked, grinning at Molly as she wiped down the area around the sink once more.

I watched, fascinated, as the dish scrubber magically began cleaning one of the large mixing bowls in the sink and the rag that Molly had just now set aside floated over to wring itself out in the other basin. 

“Of course I’m not worried,” she replied, turning and fixing her son with a stern look, and even though she wasn’t actually upset, I could see why Ginny was terrified of her mom’s wrath.

“It’s only Harry and his boyfriend, nothing to worry about...” 

“Yeah, Harry and his boyfriend… who just happens to be _Malfoy_ ,” Ginny joined her brother in teasing their mom as Molly began putting the sandwiches she’d made on a platter, each one cut into four triangles, arranging them just so. 

I racked my brain, trying to see what I could remember about anyone named Malfoy or anything else Ginny might have mentioned about Harry’s boyfriend.

He hadn’t had a boyfriend the only time I’d met him at his birthday party in July, a few days after Ginny and I had officially moved to the UK.

Honestly, the past few months had been a fucking blur… a happy, exciting blur, but still, definitely, a blur. 

I’d spent most of August trying to figure out if an odd-sounding phrase or object was a wizard thing or just British and trying not to get run over every time I used the crosswalk because I kept looking the wrong way to check for cars… even in London, where they’d had “Look Right” spelled out at, literally, every crosswalk. 

I’d spent September mostly sitting in the apartment Ginny and I shared in Dufftown, where we lived in the Scottish highlands, staring stupidly at all the magical gadgets and reading every book I could lay my hands on, sure, to learn more about Ginny’s world, but also, hello? 

Moving pictures?!?! 

Now that it was almost the end of October, I was, once again, noticing the differences between life in Great Britain and America. 

The more subtle ones, this time.

For example, should you ever find yourself rising from a group of British people visiting your girlfriend to make another cup of coffee, please, make sure you remember to ask to refill everyone else’s cup, as well. 

I hadn’t even realized I’d done something wrong until Ginny had piped up:

“Erm, would anyone else like more coffee or tea?” 

I could tell by her voice that she was a little panicked, and I’d turned to see some of the older faces looking quite taken-aback. 

Not angry. 

Just… confused, and then that look everyone gets when they’re like “Oh, right, she does things weird ‘cause she’s _American_ ….” 

Also, everyone here was _so_ much more relaxed about drinking at work-related functions. 

I’d assumed since Ginny was a teacher, the first time we met up with some of her work colleagues, it’d be a water-only affair.

Maybe a Coke, if we were feeling naughty.

But nope. 

Even though it was a school night, several rounds of pints were enjoyed, and I wondered how any of them were going to get through a full day of teaching the next day. 

Oh, and that was another thing. 

You bought a round for the entire group, then someone else got the next round, and someone else the next.

This ensured that everyone got the same amount of drunk, I supposed, and I vaguely remembered being the amused one when Ginny would keep trying to buy rounds for the entire table when we’d first begun dating back in Boston. 

Also, the first time she’d asked me to pass her the “Philadelphia,” which, you realize, to someone who’d been born and raised in the US, in fucking Boston, no less, just sounded very odd, because a) how could I pass her an entire city, and b) why the fuck would she want Phila _del_ phia? (Cream cheese, btw. She’d wanted the cream cheese.)

But now _I_ was the duck out of water and had to keep reminding myself not to make small talk on the bus or while standing in line at the grocery store, (excuse me, _supermarket_ ) because that was a thing nobody did around here. 

I hadn’t even realized I was homesick… countrysick? (Is that even a thing?) Until one day, when we’d gone to Glasgow for a long weekend and I’d seen a KFC and had instantly been overcome with an overwhelming desire for extra-crispy fried chicken with shitty mashed potatoes and gravy with a side of mac and cheese and their crack-laced coleslaw.

I’d burst into actual tears when I’d discovered that none of these sides existed here, and my only option had been the stupid, too-fat, not-greasy-enough potato-wedge fries. 

Still, overall, I was ecstatic to be living here, with Ginny, and was looking forward to discovering how wizards spent Halloween. 

I mean, Samhain. 

Right, tangent much, Micah? 

Where were we?

Harry, Ginny’s ex-husband, and his boyfriend, some guy named Malfoy, who, for some reason, should make Molly nervous. 

“He’s changed, really,” Hermione was saying from her spot at the kitchen table beside me. 

On the other side of her, Ron piped up as well.

“Yeah, you wouldn’t recognize him from Hogwarts. He’s actually _fun_ to be around now.” 

“You really wouldn’t,” George was musing, pushing away from the wall he’d been leaning against and taking a seat at the table across from Ron. 

“Recognize him, I mean. 

“He looks like a model, straight out of a bloody magazine these days, not all pointy and rat-like, like how he was at school.” 

“And how would you know what Malfoy’s looking like these days?” Molly demanded, swishing her wand so that the plates and silverware came zooming out of the cupboard and set themselves before us. 

“He stopped by the shop last week,” George replied. “Was looking for some treats and goodies to send Teddy.

“Apparently he and Harry have a little competition to see who can be the better godfather.” 

“The better godfather,” Molly muttered under her breath as she sent a few bottles of mustard and jars of pickles to the table. 

“I can only imagine what sorts of ‘ _treats’_ and ‘ _goodies’_ either of them would see fit to send to a first-year. 

“Honestly, if Teddy gets into trouble because of the three of you, you’ll be hearing from me, and Andromeda as well, I have no doubt!” 

She punctuated her sentence by having the platter of sandwiches set down with a resounding thud in the centre of the table. 

George was just reaching for a sandwich when there was a flurry of noise and commotion in the doorway, and I recognised Harry from his birthday party. 

I’d enjoyed teasing Ginny about how she, apparently, had decided to marry the most gorgeous man in England in an attempt to prove to everyone just how straight she was ever since.

Because there was no denying that Harry Potter was a fucking good-looking guy, with those gigantic green eyes and his sultry little pout that I was, to be totally honest, insanely jealous of, all topped off with that gorgeously-messy mop of black hair. 

It all made for a very striking package.

However, the tall, blond guy who entered just behind him was a different type of gorgeous altogether, and, honestly, given all the crazy magic shit I was learning that witches and wizards could produce, I wouldn’t have been surprised if he _had_ just actually up and walked off the pages of GQ or whatever. 

There was something almost intimidating in his beauty… the near perfection of his symmetrical features mixed with the perfectly-fitted suit and perfectly-coiffed pompadour.

Harry still seemed approachable, somehow, if one were so inclined. 

This other guy… well. 

I think he was more the type where you’d wait around and hope he approached you. 

‘Course, I’d just sat around, sneaking glances at Ginny and waited for her to approach me, so maybe that was just how I operated. 

There were resounding cries of “Harry!” as they all stood to greet him.

Hermione and Ron, I noticed, were quick to include Malfoy in their greetings as well, and I could have sworn that he seemed a tad on edge, too. 

Then again, I knew Harry was an orphan, and that Molly was the closest thing he had to a living mother, so maybe that was part of it. 

“Hello, Draco,” Molly said, turning to the blond man and holding out her arms. “So glad you could join us for the holiday!”

“Thank you, Molly,” Drake or Malfoy, or whoever, replied, smiling and returning her hug so casually that I thought maybe I’d imagined the panicked look that had flickered across his face just a moment earlier.

“This is for you,” he was saying, and I swear to fucking god, a bottle of wine just, like, magically appeared in his hands. 

That shit was never gonna get old. 

“Oh! You shouldn’t have….” 

“Ooh, it’s from France!” she squealed excitedly, looking over her shoulder to give the entire table a thrilled smile. 

“Sit down, sit down, dears,” she guided the two men to sit, Harry beside George, and his boyfriend beside him, across from me, while the bottle of wine went floating off to be stored somewhere. 

“We were just about to eat,” Molly informed them, and I noticed that her mouth tensed a little, and, despite her assurances to her son earlier, I realized that she was definitely nervous to have Harry and his boyfriend over. 

“Just some corned beef sandwiches,” she went on. 

“Nothing special. 

“And Ron keeps complaining he doesn’t like corned beef and insists he’s going to fry himself some sausages, so you could ask him to make you a few when he finally gets around to it, if you’d prefer?” 

“You don’t like corned beef?” Harry’s boyfriend asked Ron as we all began piling sandwich quarters, dabs of mustard, and pickles onto our plates. 

“What’s wrong with you?” 

“It’s just… they’re kind of… dry, don’t you think?” 

Harry’s boyfriend rolled his eyes as he dunked one corner of his sandwich into the mustard and took a bite. 

“A little, I suppose, but, really, it’s just an excuse for you to slather it with an unholy amount of mustard and to eat too many gherkins,” he explained, chewing happily, and I decided I liked this dude already. 

“When did you eat corned beef growing up at the manor?” Ron asked, dipping his sandwich uncertainly in some mustard and taking a (very) reluctant bite. 

“This bloke I dated would make corned beef,” he replied, dunking his sandwich in the mustard once more, then taking a bite of first the sandwich, then one of his pickles. 

“He was from Boston and…” he’d looked as though he was about to continue when the knife on his plate gave a little jump and his water glass began to tremble ominously. 

“And, sadly that is, literally, the _only_ thing I remember about him,” he amended quickly, his right arm sliding around Harry’s shoulders to draw him closer, and, as the knife and glass stilled just as suddenly as they had started, it dawned on me that the shaking dishware was a manifestation of Harry’s annoyance at the mention of his boyfriend’s ex and I couldn’t help but giggle. 

“Which, I suppose is fortunate, as it’s relevant to this conversation,” he added, dropping a kiss onto the top of Harry’s head. 

Harry gave a satisfied little smirk as he snuggled closer into his boyfriend’s side and continued to eat his sandwich. 

“When were you in Boston, Malfoy?” Ginny asked, and Malfoy’s eyes turned to Ginny and me, seated across from him.

“Ginevra!” he exclaimed, and I wondered what sort of history these two had that he was able to call her Ginevra without suffering consequences. 

“How rude of me, I didn’t even say hello!” 

His gaze focused on me, and I noticed that his eyes weren’t blue like I’d originally thought, but a wicked-cool looking stormy mixture of blue, gray, and light green. 

“And I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced, I’m sorry,” he said, extending his hand across the table to me, rising as he did so. 

“I’m Micah,” I replied, stretching my hand up to grasp his. “I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch your name… is it Malfoy?… or… Drake?… or….” 

“Erm…” he frowned, glancing up and down the Weasley’s lining the table as he sat down once more. 

“Well, my name is _Draco_ ,” he clarified. “It’s an unusual name, even for a wizard.” 

Because oooh, boy, did they have some interesting names, I thought, nodding.

“But most people here call me by my surname, which is Malfoy… habit from school, I suppose. 

“You can call me whichever.” 

“Draco,” I repeated. “So, when did you live in Boston? Was it when Harry and Ginny were ‘figuring things out’?” 

I grinned. 

Cheekily.

Ha, look at me, figuring this British slang out. 

“No, a year or so after,” he replied, grinning back at me. “Too bad, hmm? Could’ve been fun.

“Honestly, though, I loved it there. Don’t know that I can eat lobster anywhere else ever again.” 

“Oh my _god_ ,” I exclaimed, just a tad too loudly, maybe, but fuck it, I was excited. 

“Thank you!”

“Hey, Harry,” Ginny spoke around me as Draco and I exchanged a few more mouth-watering memories of a real New England lobster. 

“Do you think you could come to my class one day to do a demonstration?” 

“Of course,” he replied, and Draco and I turned our attention from lobster back to them. 

“You’re at Hogwarts now, right?” Draco asked curiously. “What subject do you teach?”

“DADA,” Ginny replied. “Why else would I be begging Harry to come demonstrate?” 

“I should bring you along and we could do a mock duel,” Harry said, grinning up at Draco.

“A mockduel?” he echoed, raising his eyebrows disbelievingly.

“You and I, Potter? A _mock_ duel? Are you joking?” 

The rest of the table snickered at some inside joke, and I, like anyone not in on the joke sat with rapt attention hoping to be let in on the little secret. 

“It’s a shame we can’t Apparate there. We could just head over next time we have a row,” Draco continued, smirking down at Harry. “It’d be fun _and_ educational for everyone.” 

The table erupted into giggles again, and I assumed the duo were known for some epic fights. 

“Merlin,” Ron murmured, eyes widening as he looked up from his plate to Harry and Draco. “I don’t even _want_ to know what your flat looks like after the two of you’ve had it out with each other.” 

“Things get… broken,” Draco said with a shrug, in a way that made me think that when he said ‘things’ he meant ‘everything.’ 

“Luckily Draco has excellent Reparo skills,” Harry added.

“What’s that?” I asked. 

“It’s a spell that fixes broken objects,” Molly supplied helpfully from her seat at the head of the table. 

The empty glass to my right shattered into about a bazillion pieces suddenly, and less than a second later, the miniscule shards of glass swirled upwards like a sparkling mini-tornado and the glass was back to normal. 

“Really, Harry?” Draco demanded, glaring down at Harry. “Give us some warning, next time. Poor girl’s still new to magic.” 

“I… thought Draco had the Repair-O skills,” I said.

“Harry shattered the glass,” Hermione informed me. “Draco repaired it.” 

“But neither of you even had your wand out….” 

I knew from Ginny that you needed your wand to perform most magic, which was how she’d managed to hide being a witch from me for so long. 

She just left her wand hidden away whenever I was around so she couldn’t accidentally use magic. 

“Neither of those two need wands,” Molly explained again. “Wandless magic is rare, but not unheard of.” 

She picked up her own wand and floated the repaired glass down the table to her outstretched hand. 

“Goodness, those _are_ excellent Reparo skills,” she proclaimed, turning the glass in her hands. “Not a piece missing and Harry nearly turned the thing to dust!” 

“To get back to your question, Gin, I’d love to come one day. We’ll have to figure out a day that works for the both of us.” 

Harry glanced up at his boyfriend hesitantly.

“Do you want Draco to come?” 

“Yes, but maybe on a different day,” Ginny replied. “Or just for my more advanced classes, so you two don’t terrify the first-years.” 

“Potter,” Draco snapped suddenly, and everyone’s eyes snapped back to the duo. 

Harry’s hand was snaking its way towards the last pickle spear on Draco’s plate, and he glanced up at his boyfriend innocently.

“Don’t you _dare_ take my last gherkin….” 

Harry paused, apparently gaging the severity of Draco’s warning. 

Then his hand darted out with lightning speed, snatching the pickle as Harry leapt up and ran back outside, Draco on his heels.

It took the rest of us about point-five seconds to follow them outside, and the two were already at it.

I assumed this was how wizard couples argued and reminded myself to seriously thank Gin for never taking her anger or annoyance out on me magically. 

Don’t get me wrong, they were laughing, and this was clearly a “play” fight, but it wasn’t hard to imagine an apartment full of broken glass and furniture watching them.

Obviously, I had no idea what was really going on, except that sparks were flying, and suddenly Draco collapsed in a fit of giggles on the lawn.

“A _tickling_ jinx!” he shrieked, clutching at his sides and laughing uncontrollably. 

“You dirty _bastard_!” 

Harry suddenly began dancing uncontrollably, and I joined the others in laughing my ass off, because, damn, that was funny.

“Tarantallegra again?” he yelled back. “Funny, Draco. Find a new spell, why don’t you?”

I heard a loud crack, and a branch began to fall from the tree just above Harry’s head as Harry’s dancing stilled. 

The branch pulverized into sawdust, and Draco stumbled upright, a wand drawn in his left hand. 

Harry had just sent a barrage of pebbles in his direction but when they got to about three inches from Draco’s face, they ricocheted off an invisible barrier surrounding Draco. 

Harry’s eyes narrowed in concentration as the pebbles drew back once more, and I felt an odd, almost electrical surge blast through me, almost like the waves that used to knock me over when we went to the beach in the summer, and I saw a faint shimmering bubble around Draco. 

Another blast of energy and the pebbles had re-launched themselves at Draco with renewed energy, only to bounce back off the invisible shield again. 

Harry looked stunned for a moment.

“This is much stronger than your ordinary Protego,” Draco taunted as the pebbles flew back towards Harry. 

They weren’t hitting him, I noticed, just zooming around him and chasing him like a pack of angry flies. 

“Boys!” Molly yelled, although, for all they seemed to hear, she could have whispered it. 

Draco was suddenly jerked up into the air, and the next second was sitting high up on one of the branches of another tree. 

Half a second later, he was back on the ground before us and Harry suddenly fell back as though someone had pulled a rug out from beneath his feet, landing sprawled in one of Molly’s flowerbeds. 

“HARRY AND DRACO!” she bellowed this time, and both men halted, although their eyes never left each other's and Draco still had his wand raised. 

“We. Have. Neighbors!” Molly reminded them. “ _Muggle_ neighbors!” 

“I’m sorry, Molly,” Harry apologised, turning to look at her, seeming contrite. 

“Potter!” Draco hissed, and I could have sworn they’d been playing but he actually sounded angry as he continued to stare at Harry, his eyes flashing, wand still raised. 

“Did you _really_ just take your eyes off me in the middle of a duel?” 

Harry turned back to look at him, surprised.

“Oh, come on, Draco,” he sighed, rolling his eyes in exasperation. “You’re not _actually_ going to hurt me.” 

“Oy, Harry,” Ginny called out. “He’s got a point. First rule of dueling!” 

“Constant vigilance!” Ron added. 

“Yeah, and had you done that about a decade ago, you’d be severely injured right now,” Draco reminded Harry, finally lowering his wand and closing the distance between them to gather Harry into a bear hug.

“I’m sorry, Molly,” he added, turning to face us all standing on the porch, still holding Harry in his arms. 

“We were having a bit of fun and got carried away. If your neighbors did see anything, I’d be happy to help take care of it.” 

“What does he mean by take care of it?” I whispered to Ginny, a little frightened, because… well. 

That just sounded intimidating, and, after the display of “fun” I’d just seen, I was sure I never wanted either of them to have to “take care” of anything regarding me. 

“Oh, just a quick spell that would make them forget anything that they shouldn’t have seen,” Ginny assured me. “Like, you know, Draco scaling and descending that tree in less than two seconds.” 

***

Later that evening, we were all seated around the Weasleys living room, bellies stuffed from the excellent dinner of meatballs in onion gravy and a scrumptious dessert of treacle pudding, the latter of which Harry had had three helpings of, and was teased by just about everyone present for his love of treacle. 

We had opened god knows how many bottles of wine throughout dinner and once we’d settled into the living room, George had started floating around glasses of whiskey that, somehow, kept refilling, and we were all pleasantly buzzed by this time. 

Draco and Ron were engrossed in a game of wizard’s chess with George doing his best to distract them with his silly antics. 

Charlie, who had arrived just before dinner, was regaling Hermione and Ginny with tales of his work with dragons in Romania. 

Harry and I were trying to explain to Arthur precisely the function of and how to operate a microwave which seemed to fascinate him, (both Harry and Ginny had warned me that Arthur’s obsession with all things Muggle was something I should probably just get used to) while Molly was sitting by the fire, watching the scene before her happily as her knitting needles continued stitching this year’s Christmas sweaters (at least, this is what Ginny had told me, and that I should expect one… probably in yellow, because that was my favorite color.)

My attention was called away from Arthur when Draco stood, suddenly.

“I’ve got to go,” he said, reaching into the inside pocket of his suit for what looked like nothing, but then a vial appeared in his hand. 

“George, why don’t you take over the game for me?” 

“Where are you going?” Harry demanded, brow furrowing as Draco unscrewed the cap from the vial and tilted the contents into his mouth.

“It’s a work thing,” he said quickly, grimacing in a way that let me know that whatever the hell was in that vial was some nasty shit. 

"Ugh,” he shuddered. “I don’t know if it’s the awful taste or going from pleasantly sloshed to completely sober in seconds, but that will never get easier to swallow. 

“Why are you being called to work now? You’re an Unspeakable.”

Harry had risen to his feet and was crossing the living room to stand before Draco. 

“It’s just a summons. Nothing to worry about,” Draco assured him, pulling him into a hug, and I couldn’t help but think that a summons didn’t sound all that reassuring. 

He tilted Harry’s head up and gave him what seemed to be a lingering kiss and when he pulled away, I noticed his eyes didn’t quite meet Harry’s as he disappeared. 

Harry, whose eyes were already impressive, flashed as he rounded on Hermione. 

“So… it’s something dangerous he does, is it?” 

“Harry,” she replied carefully, licking her lips. “You know I can’t tell you that.” 

“What’s this summons thing? Why’d he have to leave so quickly?” 

“It’s the same across the entire department,” she answered. “We have five minutes to Apparate to headquarters once summoned… otherwise they just… well. You end up going, it’s just whether or not your Apparate yourself or they do it for you.” 

“Why aren’t you going? You’re partners.”

Harry was clearly worried, and I wished I understood more about what this Unspeakable business was. 

“We’re _research_ partners,” Hermione replied nodding. 

“Apparently whatever he’s been summoned for doesn’t pertain to my particular role within the department.” 

Harry sank down on one of the sofas next to George and grabbed the bottle of whiskey.

“Great,” he muttered, lifting the bottle to his lips and taking a large gulp. “Just what I needed.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It dawned on me while re-reading the chapter, that the ending is a tad dramatic.
> 
> Fear not, I am not the sort of author who kills off or severely harms any characters, but Harry doesn't know that, and I was more trying to convey how upset Harry is.


	36. Swan Dive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We (finally?) get a little glimpse of Draco on the job!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a (fairly) gruesome death depicted in this chapter (not any character that you know and/or love... or hate, really), so if that might be triggering for you, you'll want to skip a few paragraphs after Draco takes a cursory flip through the Muggle inspector's mind to where he asks "I assume we know the reason?" 
> 
> Also, because I know we all talk about building levels in different ways in different countries, for the purposes of this story, the entry-level storey that is level with the ground is the "ground floor" (not the first, like in the US and ?) So the second-storey in this chapter could be read as "third-storey" for anyone more familiar the US version. (And, now I'm convinced my note makes it even more confusing, but whatever. Sorry?)
> 
> Can't wait to see what you all think!

_Friday - Late Evening_

_30 October 2009_

_Draco’s POV_

I arrived at the Ministry a few moments later, wondering what could have possibly occurred to require a goddamned summons now, at nearly eleven pm on the eve of a goddamned holiday. 

Instead of heading to our offices on the ninth level, I exited the lift at level two and made my way to Department Head Bones’ office.

The wizarding world had let out a collective sigh of relief when she’d reappeared after Voldemort’s defeat, having cleverly staged her own demise and going into hiding upon learning of the target put out on her. 

I’d been a bit nervous… alright, terrified, during my interview with her. 

I mean, here I was, the son of Lucius Malfoy, one of the top-ranking Death Eaters, an ex-Death-Eater myself, applying for a position that, literally, reported to almost no one within the entire goddamned ministry, and even then, very rarely. 

Bones, true to all reports, proved to be wise, fair, and, most importantly, forgiving, and, well… the rest, as far as my career was concerned, was history. 

Entering Department Head Bones’ regular office usually wasn’t very difficult, so long as you had an appointment and her secretary buzzed you in. 

Entering the small, private office reserved for her briefings with Unspeakables? 

Nearly impossible, unless you had every right to be there. 

I walked up to the door and pressed the tip of my wand to the small coil in the ornately carved panel of wood that was encrypted with intricate spells enabling it to read my wand. 

I had to stoop slightly to position my eye to stare passively into a second whirl on the door that ensured my eyes were _my_ eyes, no matter what glamour I might arrive in; a third swirl read my fingerprint, something that did not change, even with Polyjuice, fascinatingly enough. 

I always felt like such a graceless twat standing there for those few seconds, crouching the awkward dozen or so centimetres to line my eyes up with the one reader, my left arm reaching across to hold my wand up to the wand reader, while my right crossed back towards the finger reader on the left, because of course, like everything else in this world, it was designed for right-handed, short people. 

A quick, horizontal laser of light flashed down the entire portal which, morbidly enough, was used to ensure that these three parts of me were attached to one, singular body and not being held up by two or three individuals trying to gain access. 

To be honest, that was always a rather squicky image to have right before entering these meetings. 

“Good evening, Agent Malfoy,” Department Head Bones greeted me, rising from her desk. 

“Evening,” I replied, eyes flicking down to where Williams sat in one of the chairs facing Bones’ desk. 

The fuck was he doing here?

I usually went on these sorts of missions alone… that was kind of the point. 

He gave me a little, half-hearted wave and a quick shrug, informing me that he, too, was wondering the same thing. 

“I’m sending you both on this because it pertains to the Erised case,” Bones began, taking a seat behind her desk and shuffling through some parchment on her desk. 

“You’ll be reporting to a Muggle crime scene, down in Clapham, the coordinates should be appearing on your mobiles shortly.

“Use your Ministry-appointed MI5 glamours. The Muggle police are expecting your arrival.” 

“Do you know who’ll be coming from the Auror team?” I asked, crossing one leg over the other and relaxing back in my seat. 

“Nobody,” Bones’ voice boomed back immediately, and Williams and I both started and stared at her.

“I beg your pardon?” I asked at the same time as Williams blurted out:

“ _What?_ ” 

“There are no wizards involved,” Bones informed us, her eyes turning quite serious behind her monocle. “At least not that we know of as yet. That’s _your_ job.”

“But… but… _how?”_ I faltered. “I mean, what makes the Muggle police force think this has something to do with the Erised case if there are no wizards involved?” 

“A woman leapt off the roof of her building tonight,” she informed us cooly. 

“The Muggle police force’s initial searches of her flat, as well as all accounts of close friends and family, confirm that she’d become obsessed with a gentleman who lived up the street. 

“Upon questioning, it would seem that the gentleman in question is a Muggle, with no connections whatsoever to the deceased. 

“I’ve no doubt between the two of you, we’ll find the connection soon enough,” Bones allowed us a rare smile. 

My mobile pinged just then, and I heard Williams’ give a similar sound. 

“It appears your coordinates have arrived,” Bones said. 

“I’ll await your report on Monday. 

“Of course, if there is something urgent, you both know how to reach me before then.” 

She disappeared then, without a sound.

“I guess we’d better get going,” Williams said, standing and brushing off the front of his trousers.

“Wanna side-along?” he joked, holding a crooked elbow out to me. 

“I appreciate the offer, but I’ve always preferred Apparating on my own,” I informed him, rising and buttoning my suit jacket. 

“Sorry,” I added, as I Disapparated to the designated location. 

I hadn’t meant to be rude, but Williams had always kind of annoyed me. 

***

Williams and I found ourselves on the corner of Edgeley and Voltaire roads in Clapham Old Town shadowed by three of the ubiquitous townhouses that defined the area stood that apart from their neighbours thanks to an attic-level second storey and an ornate, triangular façade, seeming much like three stalwart siblings guarding over the pavement below.

The street was already cornered off with the barricade tape Muggles used to keep nosey passers-by at length and a band of Muggle police stood in a cluster on the pavement fronting the third of the “siblings.” 

I glanced up at the lilac-coloured façade and noticed that the attic-level window was open, the pale, gauze curtains fluttering softly in the breeze and as Williams and I approached, we saw the body of a woman lying shattered and bloodied on the pavement, clearly having jumped from the window above.

“Evening,” a gentleman said, separating himself from the huddle surrounding the gruesome site. “Agents Howard and Smith, I presume?” 

Williams and I nodded. 

“Inspector Michaels,” he introduced himself, offering his hand first to me, then to Williams. 

“What happened here?” 'Smith' asked, brow furrowing as we reached the other officers. “I mean, aside from the obvious.” 

I just barely stopped myself from rolling my eyes. 

Honestly, just blurting shit like that out in front of the Inspector. 

Okay, I thought, catching Michaels’ eyes and a brief tug of a knowing smile at his lips, maybe I had actually rolled my eyes. 

“The deceased is one Ethel Hodges,” Michaels began, our fleeting moment of solidarity over almost as quickly as it had begun. 

“Neighbours said they heard a loud thump about thirty minutes ago. Came outside to find this lovely scene.”

He flashed a sarcastic, morose-sort of grin, and I briefly wondered how many times he’d had to rehash the details of a random person’s death before. 

“Classic swan dive,” he continued. “Really went for it, didn’t want to end up with just a couple of broken legs and ribs.”

He paused and looked us over just a tad suspiciously, and I immediately went inside his head. 

A cursory flip through his mind showed that he was more curious as to why MI5 agents were being called to, what seemed to be, a classic, seemingly unsuspicious suicide scene, and I relaxed somewhat. 

I stepped forward through the ring of officers and knelt down beside the body. 

Swan dive, indeed, I mused, taking in the awkward angle of her body, which had landed chest and face-first on the pavement, one side of her skull shattered open, rendering her nearly unrecognisable. 

I had a brief, sad, hope that none of her family lived nearby to see her like this. 

Her legs hadn’t cleared the spiked wrought-iron fence and one of them stuck up through her fattened calf, marring the homey feel of the bright yellow flowers that someone had so lovingly cultivated to grow over the austere black pickets that lined the front of the home, leaving her hips and torso hanging, suspended between the pavement and the fence. 

“I assume we know the reason?” I asked, glancing up at Inspector Michaels before returning my gaze to the body. 

It was ghastly, to be sure, but I was trying to get any sort of feeling or memory traces left behind by Ethel Hodges. 

While there were quite a few memories and sentiments lingering around, they were murky and erratic. 

And definitely centred around one certain Shaan Acharya. 

I had no idea who the man was, but Ethel’s last thoughts had completely focused on him with an almost frightening intensity. 

And, judging by the content of said memories, it seemed doubtful that her infatuation was reciprocated. 

All I was catching were random glimpses of this bloke’s face, his figure as it ambled up and down the street, entering and exiting from a home up the street…

His… wife and kids? 

Okay, yeah.

This Erised shit was officially bat shit. 

I stood immediately and turned to face Williams… shit… _Smith_ , and Michaels, brows raised expectantly.

“Yes,” Michaels nodded, “As far as we can tell, she was enamoured with a gentleman who lived up the street.”

Michaels nodded in the direction of Voltaire Road, as though we might have picked said gentleman’s house out of the line of brick townhouses ourselves.

“Who is he?” Williams-Smith asked immediately, returning his gaze to Michaels.

“Nice bloke,” Michaels shrugged and glanced down at the body. 

“All we know, so far, is that he works in central London as a bank teller, has been married for fifteen years, and has two sons.” 

“What’s his connection to the deceased?” I asked, already knowing the answer, but I kept my face trained on both Michaels and Williams. 

“That, I think, is where you two come in,” Michaels admitted, finally glancing down at the body beside us. “Nothing related, far as any of us could tell.” 

I sneaked a glance up at Williams as I stood, and the look in his eye mirrored my sentiments exactly.

“Might we have a look around?” Williams asked. 

“Of course,” Michaels swept a hand towards the scene and the house as though bidding us enter, and Williams and I wasted no time heading into the common foyer and up the stairs to the small studio Ethel had inhabited on the top storey. 

Holy fucking Hecate, it was insanity. 

Nothing that would have been visible to the eye, but these walls were talking, and it wasn’t good. 

Nothing but obsession and that name, again. 

Shaan. 

Shaan. 

Shaan. 

Repeated, almost like a heartbeat pulsing from the walls and floorboards of the flat. 

Williams and I joined with the detectives on the scene, searching the flat.

“You guys are going to want to see this,” one of them said, motioning us over towards the bed, which sat just before the window from which she had jumped. 

Piles of journals, notebooks, and loose sheets of paper littered the floor and the nightstand beside it. 

Williams and I both knelt, pulling on the icky rubber gloves Muggles used to keep crime scenes uncontaminated, and each grabbed a notebook. 

I couldn’t help the look of shock that flickered across my face as I flipped through the pages.

She had been absolutely mad. 

I was seriously creeped out.

Then sad.

Then angry. 

Because this wasn’t who Ethel was, really.

The app had caused her to spiral down this path to utter insanity, ending with her having taken her own life. 

I turned the page and took in another entry, the page covered in a hasty, almost frantic cursive, her thoughts spilling out freely over the page. 

“ _Why are you doing this? Why are you still with her and not me? You know that you’re supposed to be with me and you’re not and I have to walk up and down the street to see you and you can only see her and why do you not know that we’re to be in love? How are you letting her touch you right now? Why do you let her kiss your cheek like that when you know that I’m right here, waiting_ _…._ _”_

Another entry seemed focused on Shaan’s wife. 

“ _What have you done to him? How are you keeping him from me? What sort of ridiculous witchcraft have you enlisted to keep him from me the way you do?_

_Because we are meant to be, he loves me and he belongs with me so you can enjoy him all you want while you can because one day, soon, he’s going to break free of your little spell and realise he was meant to be with me._ _”_

I shook my head and reached down to the pile to pick up a few of the loose pieces of paper.

“ _You and I are so happy together, now that you’ve finally realised that I’m the one for you and not her._

_I never thought I’d know such bliss, and it still makes me reel when I remember that you are finally just as crazy for me as I am for you._

_Do you remember how we met? Walking down our street, eyes meeting, and realising that we were meant to be… like a fairy tale._

_And now we are so wonderfully happy together and I love you more than I’d ever thought possible. This isn’t an obsession, like the others say. This is real._

_I know you’ve just left for work but I can’t wait to meet you for lunch, as promised; I love how we always find time to spend together as often as possible._

_I love waking up beside you, rolling over to hold you in my arms and pull you closer and bury my face in your neck to breathe in your scent… it’s addictive, like a drug._

_You are my drug of choice._ _”_

I shook my head and glanced over at Williams, who seemed equally engrossed with the notebook he held in his own hands. 

I caught his eye and nodded towards the corner of the flat, indicating that we should head in that direction to discuss the non-Muggle-friendly aspects of the case. 

“What do you make of this?” I asked, shaking my handful of papers at him. 

“She… was definitely obsessed,” he replied, frowning as he flipped through his notebook. “Clearly delusional, made up a fantasy life for the two of them.” 

“She’s the most deranged of all the victims so far,” I hissed. “She’s a fucking nutter!” 

“Okay,” he replied slowly, eyes watching me cautiously. “Why do you think that is?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” I asked, and Williams shook his head. 

“She became more and more obsessed as her love wasn’t reciprocated,” I explained, glancing cautiously at the Muggle policemen still perusing the flat. 

“You think?” he asked, frowning down at his journal and thumbing through the last few entries. 

“I think,” I replied, staring at the stack of journals and papers littering her bedside, eyes narrowing. “But….” 

My eyes scanned the room and fell on a desk in the opposite corner. 

A small pile of notebooks and books sat neatly piled on the corner, looking as though they’d not been touched in quite some time. 

I crossed the room and picked up the stack, looking through the books on the desk, and found another journal. 

I flipped it open found page after page of Ethel Hodges, pre-obsession. 

Normal, boring, mundane entries. 

How she’d stopped at a park to feed the birds on her way home from her thankless job as a receptionist. 

Just five months ago she had gone home to Portsmouth to visit her parents and had enjoyed the beach. 

The last entry was dated 23 May, where she’d had lunch with a friend and had written at length about enjoying the sun on her skin as they’d dined alfresco at a local restaurant called The Dairy, where she’d particularly enjoyed their tagliatelle with stracciatella and treviso cheeses as she and “Mary Anne” had enjoyed a bottle of rosé. 

Just months ago, she’d been herself.

Completely sane.

Enjoying her life. 

Frowning, I scanned the room once more, locating her mobile on the nightstand as well. 

A quick scroll through her photo album showed thousands of photos of a man, whom I assumed was Shaan Acharya. 

Merlin, obsession was weird, I thought, as I continued to flip through her screens, looking for the Erised app. 

It took less than ten seconds to find it, disguised as a meditation app to Muggle eyes, but a wizard could see the ornate frame of the Mirror of Erised. 

I clicked it open and Acharya’s face immediately filled the mobile screen. 

In it he smiled and winked, clearly flirting with the viewer. 

Williams suddenly appeared behind my shoulder, staring down at the app. 

“Well, that answers that,” he said. 

“Just in case there’d been a doubt,” he added, gesturing around the room. 

I just rolled my eyes and opened her App store and began scanning the purchases, looking for the date the “meditation” app had downloaded into her mobile. 

26 May. 

Three days after the last entry in her pre-obsession journal. 

Frowning, I hurried back over to the stack of journals at her bedside. 

“Were these in any particular order?” I asked, kneeling beside the Muggle policeman still going through the files.

“Didn’t seem to be,” he replied. “They were all kind of in a jumble around the bed.” 

I began flipping through the journals, looking for the oldest entry dates. 

Merlin, I wanted to choke this Erised App arsehole. 

I finally found one dated 10 June and began flipping through the entries here. 

“ _I saw him again today and was struck once more at how handsome he is. How had I never seen it before? The way the sun glinted off his hair as he ducked into the front door made it shine like onyx and I wondered if his hair is really as dark as it looks, or, if I were able to see it up close, if I would find streaks of dark brown?”_

So she hadn’t started off quite so obsessed. 

I frowned again and began thumbing through other journals. 

The later the entry date, the more obsessed and insane Ethel seemed, and I pondered this for a minute, looking at her word choice and syntax, noticing the noticeable change as time passed between entries. 

“What are you thinking?” Williams asked suddenly from behind me.

“Her journals from before the app,” I replied, not really answering his question as I passed the first journal back to him and returned to my search through Ethel’s post-Erised journals.

“It seems that her obsession intensified the longer Mr Acharya ignored her,” I explained. “It’s almost like she began to think and speak differently, too.

“Merlin, can you imagine how fucking insane this nutter’s flat is?” I asked, shaking my head in awe. 

“What do you mean?” 

“What do you mean, what do I mean?” I asked in return, rummaging around her desk. 

“If this is what they’re doing to perfectly sane people, can you imagine what we’d find at their place? I mean, look, Ethel Hodges was completely _fine_ just a few months ago.

“How long do you think they’ve been pining after their unrequited love?” 

I turned to face him and caught him staring at me curiously. 

The fuck? 

Williams had always been weird, in my opinion, but especially so the past few weeks and I couldn’t help flicking my eyes over his person distastefully. 

“You think he hasn’t yet?” he asked, straightening and adjusting his tie. 

Apparently he’d noticed my look. 

“Of course they haven’t,” I replied immediately. 

Merlin, had he never heard of gender-neutral pronouns? We had no idea if this person was male or female, or honestly, at this point, even human. 

“What makes you say that?” he asked, frowning. 

“This is all fake,” I reminded him, gesturing at the flat, the pile of notebooks, the open window behind me. 

“Um… yeah?”

Honestly, did Williams think at all?

“Look at Ethel’s journal entries.” 

I grabbed three of her notebooks, the first from before she’d been put under the app’s spell, the second from mid-July, and the third a sheaf of paper from just a few weeks ago and spread them out on the small dining table

“She kept getting worse and worse the longer her obsession went unnoticed. And look at how her thought patterns and voice changes,” I added, gesturing with a finger. 

“It seems as though her thoughts began following the nutter’s thought patterns.” 

“You… think he’s controlling the victims' actual thoughts?” he asked, and I had to physically stop myself from rolling my eyes in exasperation. 

I paused, then let out a breath and shook my head.

“I wouldn’t say that they’re controlling the victims' thoughts,” I sighed. “But I think their thoughts are imprinting on them? They’re somehow related… I think.

“Anyway, if this person _has_ got the app uploaded to their intended victim’s mobile, then this kind of drivel,” I jabbed a finger at one of Ethel’s most recent, nearly incomprehensible entries that was written entirely in present-tense and with almost no punctuation, almost like a stream of consciousness. 

“This kind of drivel would go away because this fucking nutter would think they’d fallen in love and….” 

I loved and hated this part of a good mystery… when you had something just on the tip of your tongue, a clue or brilliant breakthrough swirling through your mind, just barely evading your grasp each time. 

“We need to investigate the street. And talk to Acharya,” I said finally, the elusive suspicion fleeing once more. 

“We’ll need to take some of these,” I called out to the Muggle policemen. “Do you need to catalogue them or take photos for your evidence?” 

One of them shook their head and walked over to where Williams and I stood. 

“I think we’ve got enough to go around. If you find anything particularly useful in there, you know where to find us,” he said, holding out three of the plastic evidence bags Muggles used to wrap their evidence. 

Merlin, being a Muggle was so tiresome. 

Williams helped me bag the evidence, and we descended the stairs and went back into the street where, thankfully, Ethel’s body had been removed. 

Safely out of sight of prying Muggle eyes, I shrank the journals and put them in my breast pocket and began walking. 

“What are we looking for out here?” Williams asked. “I thought we’d want to head straight to Mr Acharya’s.” 

He held up a piece of paper, indicating his address as 27 Voltaire Road. 

“We’ll get to that,” I informed him. “I’m sure the Muggle police are still talking with him, and I doubt he’s going to have a lot of useful information for us, seeing as we’re supposed to be figuring out how a wizard’s involved.” 

We turned right onto Voltaire Road, and I stopped paying attention to Williams and his stupid questions, senses on the alert for any magical signature that might be lurking in the short distance between where Ethel Hodges had lived and Mr Acharya’s home. 

Nothing. 

It took less than five minutes to reach the natural-coloured stuccoed home that stood out from its red-bricked neighbours, even with all my stopping and searching for any magical signal. 

Inside, Inspector Michaels was speaking with Mr Acharya and his wife. 

“Howard, Smith,” he greeted us with a short nod. “Did you find what you needed?” 

“For the time being,” I replied, already riffling deep inside of Shaan Acharya’s mind, as I’m sure Williams was doing as well. 

Again, nothing.

Well, not nothing, obviously.

But nothing that linked him in any way to Ethel Hodges. 

It was just as Inspector Michaels had suspected and Shaan Acharya hadn’t even been aware of Ethel’s existence. 

I searched his wife’s brain next, not expecting, nor finding, anything of use.

“Good Evening,” Williams said, stepping forward and holding out his hand. 

“Agent Smith. Do you mind if we have a quick look around?” 

Mr and Mrs Acharya seemed bewildered and frightened to be involved in the case and they both nodded numbly. 

Mr Acharya had his arm around his wife, and he looked up at me now.

“Hello,” he greeted me quietly.

I glanced over at Michaels, then back at the Acharyas. 

“I take it you’ve already questioned both of them?” 

Michaels nodded. 

“Extensively,” he added, and Mrs Acharya gave a little shudder. 

“My name is Agent Howard, and I’m very sorry to keep you,” I smiled sympathetically at them as I knelt to their eye level, sending a quick calming spell their way because the poor couple was devastated and frightened and saddened by the death of the stranger up the street, even after learning that she’d been obsessed with Shaan. 

“Mr Acharya, I was wondering if I might have a look at your mobile?” 

He nodded and fumbled in his pocket, producing the mobile and handing it to me. 

A quick scroll through his apps showed nothing suspect, not that I’d been expecting anything by this point. 

“Thank you,” I said, smiling once more and handing the mobile back to him while he stammered some sort of response. 

“Smith?” I called, standing and wondering what Williams could possibly be up to. 

“Mm?” he appeared from round the corner, brows raised questioningly. 

“I don’t think we have anything to investigate here,” I said. “Do you?” 

He shook his head, eyes travelling around the walls and corners of the reception. 

“Inspector, might I have a word?” I asked, already moving towards the entryway. 

“Good evening,” I nodded to the Acharyas, who nodded back numbly. 

“Agent Howard?” Michaels asked once we were in the hall. 

“Do you know where the deceased worked? Or other places that she frequented?” 

“Not yet, but I’ll have the file delivered to you tomorrow.” 

“Thank you.” 

Williams also bid the Inspector goodbye, and we returned to the street where I began pacing, as I always did when thinking. 

“How are we going to figure out how a wizard’s involved?” Williams asked, watching me pace. 

“No idea.” 

I continued to pace, and Williams continued to watch.

“Any theories?” he asked finally. 

“Not really,” I replied, coming to a stop and turning to face him. “You?” 

He shook his head.

“I mean, it’s obvious the app wasn’t installed or spelled or whatever correctly… but…” 

“But how?” I asked.

He nodded, and I began pacing again. 

“So… a wizard, let’s assume, had to have the app or the spell that puts the app on a mobile… or something,” I began thinking aloud. 

That also helped with the thought process and mystery-solving. 

“He intended for Ethel to fall madly in love with him…”

“But instead she fell for Mr Acharya,” Williams finished, falling into step beside me. 

“It’s got to be something with how the app functions,” I mused, brows furrowing. 

Williams and I continued a few more stretches across our selected pacing area. 

“So… if the witch or wizard casts the spell into their intended’s mobile… how does the app make that person obsess over the caster?” 

“Well, we’d been assuming that the app was coded somehow to capture the attention of the intended… that the magical signature of the caster would create the link, so to speak,” Williams was saying.

“I know, I know,” I muttered. “Never thought that was the case. Too risky to use your own magical signature like that…

“Let’s see… we know the caster _has_ to be nearby… again, too risky to cast from far away, so within eyesight…” I stopped and turned to stare at Williams, a lightbulb of sorts having gone off in my brain.

“What if the person… the intended… only has to _look_ at the caster to become obsessed?”

“There wouldn’t be any magical imprint,” Williams said slowly, nodding. “Except for, maybe the casting into the phone in the first….” 

I shook my head and waved a hand, shutting him off.

“No, no,” I continued pacing. “It’s entirely possible to cast something that short of a distance and cover up your trace, I mean, easily enough, and we already know we’re dealing with a powerful witch or wizard, here.

“So… the wizard cast the spell into Ethel’s mobile, she looked up, and, at the last second, Shaan Acharya stepped into her line of view and she saw _him_.” 

I had been speaking more and more quickly as I got more excited about this possibility and I stopped now to face Williams again.

“She saw the wrong person!” I crowed gleefully, a triumphant smile spreading over my face. 

“The… wrong… person,” Williams repeated, staring back at me as though a light bulb had also gone off in his head. 

“I think we’ll need to investigate where she worked.” 

I continued pacing. 

“She was a receptionist,” I added, unsure as to whether or not Williams had seen that anywhere in her journals. “So I don’t think we’ll be able to investigate anything until Monday, which will give us the weekend to go over the file Michaels sends tomorrow.” 

I paused and glanced up at Williams, who also seemed to be deep in thought.

“Yeah,” he said finally, eyes meeting mine. “Lots of work to do.” 

***

A few minutes later, I was once again walking up the path to the Burrow, taking a moment to study the Weasley home more carefully now that I was alone. 

I stared up at the teetering four-storey … or was it five? I honestly couldn’t tell and was almost embarrassed to think what my younger self would have thought had I seen the place back then. 

How I, inevitably, would have teased Ron and Ginny mercilessly, as I had about their robes, their schoolbooks, and their broomsticks. 

I would have, no doubt, looked down on the haphazardly constructed house, the complete opposite of the imposing, symmetrical grandeur I’d called home, not realising that inside, it was also the complete opposite of what I knew and understood a home to be. 

Instead of the austere, intimidating vastness of the manor, the Burrow was filled with light, and love, and clutter, which, if I were being honest, was something I don’t think I could ever “do” in my everyday life, but somehow, it worked here, giving the home a comfortable, lived-in feel. 

I suppose if there’d been seven Malfoy siblings, maybe parts of the Manor might have looked more lived-in, but I doubted it. 

Just six more morose little blond arseholes skulking about with bored scowls hiding their fear and disdain of Father. 

Or maybe, Father would have lucked out, and one of them might have been the perfect, little pompous twat-of-an-heir he’d always wanted. 

Still, I’d been just a little nervous showing up here, even with Harry, and despite honestly considering Ron and Hermione to be good friends. 

I mean… meeting Molly Weasley was practically being taken to meet Harry’s mum, and by the time Harry and I had walked this same path earlier today, I’d nearly convinced myself that she was going to take one look at me, change her mind, and pull Harry aside and tell him “No, absolutely not. Anyone but him.” 

Of course, Molly had been as polite and pleasant as though I hadn’t spent most of my childhood teasing and taunting her children, real or practically-adopted. 

And the food. 

Why had no one warned me about the food? 

And how were the Weasley children all not 300 kilos? 

The corned beef sandwiches, that I assumed were made to make Ginny’s girlfriend, Micah, feel more at home, were better than any I’d devoured in Boston. 

And the meatballs at dinner? 

So simply delicious and oddly comforting. 

I’d seriously considered starting another duel to nab the last one from Harry’s plate, then remembered how upset Molly had been that afternoon, and had thought better of it. 

Still, I was looking forward to more of Molly’s food over the weekend and gave myself a small chuckle at yet another comparison at how the Weasley’s life was the exact opposite of mine. 

Sure, I loved my mum, but cosy, home-cooked meals that tasted like a hug wrapped in a warm blanket just wasn’t really Narcissa Malfoy’s style, now, was it? 

I gave one last glance up at the house, honestly, curious as to what the bedrooms looked like and wondering how I might sneak an excuse to see one. 

We weren’t sleeping in one of the bedrooms; even with all the tacked-on extra rooms, the house didn’t quite fit everyone arriving for the celebrations, and so George, Ron, Hermione, Harry, and I were designated to sleep in the tent set up in the Weasley’s backyard. 

_“Oy, Malfoy, have you ever even slept in a tent before?” Ron had teased earlier when we’d been figuring out the sleeping arrangements._

_“Ron, don’t be ridiculous,” I’d retorted, throwing on my full accent for fun as I sniffed daintily and adjusted my shirt cuffs peeking out from beneath my sweater._

_“Of_ course _I’ve never slept in a tent before.”_

_Micah, who obviously hadn’t been expecting this response, burst out laughing._

“ _You’re going to have a wicked-good time, squeezing into that!” she’d teased us gleefully, pointing at the small tent set up next to the broom shed in the yard._

_“I’m glad you held on to your own room, babe,” she’d added, kissing Ginny on the cheek._

_“What do you mean, squeezing into that?” I’d asked nervously, glancing at the tent, then back at Hermione, who, I’d decided, would give me the most truthful answer._

_“Oh! Micah! You’ve never seen a magicked tent!” Hermione had exclaimed._ _“_ _It’s expanded on the inside. That there’s a three-bedroom house!_

_“We should take you on a tour, you’ll love it!”_

_Then it had been my turn to glance at Micah curiously._

_“What do Muggle tents look like?”_

_“Like that!” she’d replied, pointing. “But… they’re not any bigger on the inside than they look on the outside.”_

_I hadn’t been able to help_ _looking_ _back and forth between Micah, the tent, the Weasleys, the tent, Harry, the tent._

_“You mean… if we were Muggles, the five of us would be squeezing into_ that _,” I’d pointed, just in case there was another tent or something in question. “Everyone all crowded together and up in everyone else’s business? Watching whatever you get up to at night?”_

_“Malfoy,” Ginny had groaned, rolling her eyes._ _“_ _If you were Muggle camping, in a Muggle tent, you wouldn’t be getting up to anything at night._

_“_ _Hopefully, anyway, because that would be so much TMI for everyone else inside the tent._

_“Merlin,” she’d continued, rolling her eyes. “I know you’re two randy boys running around, but surely you don’t need to get it on_ every _night.”_

_I’d looked over at Hermione, Ron, and George and grinned._

_“Aren’t you glad we have a_ magic _tent?”_

I opened the front door to the Weasley’s and immediately found myself wrapped in Harry. 

Literally. 

“ _Draco_! You’re back,” he slurred. “Finally.”

“Lo, Love,” I replied, returning his embrace and looking around the room, where all of the Weasleys and company, minus Molly and Arthur, sat staring back at me, all cheerfully grinning with far too much pink in their cheeks to be remotely sober. 

“No need to ask what you lot’ve been up to,” I teased, shutting the door and walking into the room.

Well, trying to walk into the room, but this was proving rather difficult with Harry still wrapped tightly around me, still murmuring things about me being back and how I should never leave ever again, which was nice, I’ll be honest, except for the whole trying to move bit. 

“You’ve got yourself a very worried, very drunk Harry, there,” Charlie teased, taking another sip of whiskey.

“Yes, I can… see that,” I replied, still trying to make my way to a chair and failing miserably. 

“I didn’t like when you were gone,” Harry mumbled, grabbing my face between his palms and staring at me, pupils all but swallowing the green in his eyes. 

“I was worried,” he added, stretching up to kiss me. 

I reached up to clasp his hands that were still wound tightly around my neck and tried, with no success, to unwind them. 

I _was_ finally making progress across the room, however, although this was mostly due to Harry, still babbling incoherent little phrases into my neck whilst stumbling backwards and dragging me with him. 

“Is everything alright with work?” Ron asked, and I nodded, still working on disentangling myself from my boyfriend, who, apparently, when sloshed, turned into a little cling-monster. 

I was about to reply verbally to Ron with what little details I could supply when I suddenly felt a cold rush around my back and torso and realised that my shirt and sweater had vanished.

“Harry!” I choked out, slightly panicked and worried that my trousers and pants might be next. 

“There are _people_ around!” I reminded him amidst the catcalls and cries of ‘Take it all off!’ that George and Ginny had decided were an appropriate response to this situation. 

Harry stopped stumbling backwards and glared up at me, arms still locked around my neck, eyes blazing.

“Then get us away from them,” he instructed, in that no-nonsense-I’m-the-one-who-killed-Voldemort voice and I turned my head to offer a small smile at our mates.

“Erm… much as I’d like to stay and chat…” I nodded my head back to Harry in explanation and Apparated to our little room in the tent out back. 

“You _left_ me,” Harry accused immediately, mouth seeking mine as he toppled us into the bed, clothing already vanished gods knew where. 

“You left me” he accused again, stopping to kiss me frantically, his hands running themselves up and down and across my torso as though he were making sure I was real.

“And I was worried, and I _hate_ that,” he continued, still kissing, still feeling, one of his hands tangling itself in my hair, pulling my head back to kiss me more deeply as he straddled me, his other hand wrapping itself around my prick, which had, apparently, decided it very much liked stroppy, clingy, worried Harry. 

“Didn’t leave you,” I tried to reason, my own hands performing their own exploration of Harry’s body, hips rising, trying to thrust more of my cock into his hand. 

“You can’t ever leave me. Not you,” Harry was muttering, teeth tearing at my neck, causing me to groan and arch up into him, the explanation I was about to toss back at him going foggy and disappearing from my brain. 

“Hafta promise,” he demanded, straightening to glare down at me, his eyes wide and fearful as he worried his bottom lip, hands stilling on my chest. 

“Promise what?” I asked, bewildered. 

“That you won’t leave me,” he repeated earnestly, leaning over and capturing my mouth with his. 

“Not like that,” he added, hands cradling my face and holding me, demanding that I meet his gaze, and I started at the realisation that Harry had thought I might die tonight. 

“Everyone always leaves me like that,” he added quietly, nuzzling into my neck. 

“But not you,” he sighed, rising up to kiss me again. “You’re not allowed to.” 

“I won’t,” I promised, mouth seeking his and then losing myself in Harry like I always did, the fact that I had no idea how I was supposed to keep this promise closing itself away in some other compartment for now as I buried myself in Harry’s warmth, thinking I was very glad we had a magical tent. 


	37. Magic History for Muggles: Abridged

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the next morning and the Weasley family is preparing for Samhain.  
> Micah, once again, is enjoying observing and learning about the wizarding world. 
> 
> * This chapter is long, but contains a fairly big clue. Just an FYI. Probably shouldn't read until you have some time.

_Saturday Morning_

_31 October 2009_

_Micah’s POV_

I took another gulp of coffee and swore, for about the millionth time in my life, that I was never drinking again. 

Oh, right.

Except tonight was Samhain, and something told me I’d be breaking that oath in mere hours. 

I’d never been the kind of person who could sleep in, even with the sort of hangover brought on by too many bottles of wine followed by too many glasses of whiskey.

And while I usually cursed the Catholic church for not having had the foresight to create a patron saint of good sleep (because, old-school Bostonian that I was, I had attended Mass and Catholic school long enough for those superstitions to rub off on me before I’d realised that I _really_ liked my all-girls school for an entirely different reason), but today, I actually kind of welcomed it.

Dreadful hangover aside, it was the perfect time have some me time and keep track of, well, all the crazy happening in my life right now.

I’d also recently decided to revisit another adolescent habit of mine — keeping a journal. 

Now, instead of the angst-laden entries of mean girls and juvenile crushes, my entries catalogued the exciting unfamiliarity of my life, from living in Scotland to having a witch as a partner. 

I hoped that one day, Gin and I would be able to flip through this and laugh at the things that had surprised me, and that, one day, should I become completely acclimated to my world here, I would never forget the wonderment and awe I’d experienced these past few months. 

“Morning.” 

I started and looked up to see Draco walk in, looking a little tired and rumpled after his late night. 

Oh, and being called in for work, too. 

Smirk. 

“Didn’t expect to see any of you awake yet,” he added, glancing around the kitchen as though looking for something. 

“Morning to you, too,” I replied. “There’s coffee in the pot if you’re interested.”

“It’s the only machine I wasn’t too afraid to operate,” I added, taking another sip from my mug. 

Draco laughed as he poured himself a cup.

“It goes both ways, you know,” he grinned at me good-naturedly as he took the seat across from me.

“Imagine trying to figure out how to use any of these contraptions _without_ magic for the first time.” 

“Why would you?” I asked, frowning. “Try to do it without magic, I mean?”

He shrugged.

“Oh, you know, meet a nice bloke, invite him back to yours, then offer to make him a brekkie sandwich next morning and realise you’ve no idea how to work the bloody stove.” 

“Holy shit, what did you do?” I asked laughing at the image he’d painted.

“Took him to Mike & Patty’s for a better sandwich than I could’ve ever made,” he replied, smirking, and I groaned. 

I would fucking _kill_ for their Fancy breakfast sandwich right now… the ultimate hangover cure, in my book. 

I closed my eyes and could almost taste the gooey egg yolks running over the crispy bacon and generous spread of avocado that could chase the deadliest of post-night-out maladies away.

“Sorry.” Draco winced apologetically, clearly understanding my frustration. 

“Seriously, though, does anything cure a hangover better than one of their sandwiches?” 

“… Hangover potion?” he suggested, and I scowled at him. 

“Of course,” I muttered. “Because I just happen to have that on me.” 

Draco was laughing and suddenly there was a whoosh and a cauldron and several glass jars that settled themselves around him.

“I swear to God, that is never going to get old,” I informed him, shaking my head as Draco began sorting and arranging the jars in front of him.

“Why is your cauldron copper?” I asked, having seen both Ginny and Molly’s black cauldrons. “Is it just a look or is it, like, you know, copper cookware?” 

“Um… I know nothing of cookware,” he admitted, looking up from something he was slicing on a little cutting board. 

“But as far as the cauldron is concerned, it brews potions more efficiently because of how quickly and evenly copper conducts heat.” 

I watched, fascinated, as he continued to meticulously and methodically prepare the ingredients; there were a lot of them, too. 

I’d never seen anyone brew a potion before. 

Ginny said she was terrible at it and always bought her potions from a potions shop in Hogsmeade or Diagon Alley. 

“What…” I began, then stopped. 

Maybe I was distracting him? 

“Hmm?” he glanced up questioningly, then offered an encouraging smile.

“You can ask questions,” he stated, as though he could read my mind or something. “I can talk and brew at the same time.” 

“What is that?” 

He was grinding something thin and black into a powder now. 

“Billywig Stings,” he replied, grinning up at me knowingly, because, duh, I still had no idea what he was talking about. 

“They’re little insects from Australia… if they actually sting you, you'd be extremely giddy and even levitate for a bit. 

However, if you grind up the stinger for certain potions, it just peps you up a bit.

It goes in the potion last, but it’s best to have it on the ready because you need to add it quickly.”

“This is honey water,” he went on, pouring a large jar of honeyed liquid into the cauldron and floating it over to the open flame on the stove. 

Draco stood and walked over to the cauldron, hand already stretched out to catch a copper ladle that came zooming, again, from out of nowhere, and began gently stirring the potion. 

He returned to sit at the table, the ladle still stirring. 

“And these are lemon and ginger… all things you know…” 

Those items joined the honey water in the cauldron, still stirring, and soon the room was filled with the soothing scent of lemon, ginger, and honey. 

The pile of what he’d been chopping first swirled up and went to join the cauldron.

“Willow bark,” he explained. “I think you Muggles use it too, sometimes? It’s a pain reliever. Kind of like aspirin.” 

Next, he floated a yellowish-looking paste to join the simmering pot. 

“Stewed mandrake. It’s a… type of root that’s known for its restorative properties.” 

“They definitely don’t have that in the Muggle world,” I mused, as this was the first ingredient to join the potion that I’d never heard of. 

“No, definitely not,” Draco agreed, smiling an amused sort of smile. 

“So what were you doing in Boston?” I asked. “I didn’t know there was so much back and forth between the wizard offices there and here.” 

“I was there for work,” he replied carefully, glancing off towards his right and frowning a bit. 

“I… can’t really say much more than that,” he added, and I remembered last night when he’d left. 

“Because you’re an Unspeakable,” I clarified, and he nodded. 

“What did your boyfriend say about that?” I asked. “You know, the one from Boston that you don’t remember anything about?” 

I’d always known Ginny was a teacher, just, you know, thought it was at a “Muggle” school until she’d spilled all her little secrets. 

“Right,” Draco agreed with a chuckle. “Him.”

“He thought I was just there on some boring office job. I can’t even remember. I think it was insurance, maybe?

“All I know is, for some reason, he got very sidetracked whenever he thought to ask me for any details.” 

“Oh, _yes_!” Ginny’s voice suddenly rang out from the other end of the room. “Are you brewing what I think you’re brewing, Malfoy?” 

“Sure am,” he replied. “It’s got a few more minutes, but it’ll be ready soon.” 

“What’d I miss?” Gin asked, sitting beside me and stealing a sip of my coffee. “What are we talking about?”

“I was asking Draco how he kept his job hidden from his Boston boyfriend,” I replied, eyes narrowing.

“Did you do stuff like that to me?” 

“I dunno,” she replied with a shrug. 

“What’d you do, Malfoy?” she asked, switching her gaze over to him and handing me back my coffee cup. 

“Just a simple re-direct charm anytime he’d think to ask me any details,” he replied, picking up another jar of potions ingredients, this one filled with an absolutely foul-looking, viscous creamy liquid, and ambled over to the stove once more.

“Oh,” Ginny said, nodding. “Yeah, I had to do that a few times.” 

“I assume a redirect charm redirects my thoughts so I’m not asking questions you can’t answer?” I asked, watching as Draco measured out a few drops of the liquid into the potion. 

“Could you redirect my thoughts to whatever you felt like?” 

I was, honestly, feeling just a little violated, even though the rational part of me knew that Ginny hadn’t done it on purpose. 

“No,” she replied, also watching as Draco worked on the potion. “I mean, I guess I _could_ have, but I would just make you kind of forget that you had a question about my day or whatever and then you’d go on to whatever it was you were thinking about.” 

She frowned, and I processed this.

This was something that happened every once in a while. 

Where I had to sort of process the fact that Ginny had, more or less, lied to me for two years. 

And remind myself _why_ she’d done it. 

And remind myself that I was overreacting.

Probably. 

“It’s really just a wizard-version of changing the subject,” Draco was saying, still watching the potion carefully. 

I supposed he had a point. 

It wasn’t as though she’d cast some sort of irreparable spell on me or altered my mind or something. 

The ladle, I noticed, began stirring counterclockwise now.

“Why’d you make it stir in the opposite direction?” Ginny asked, frowning. 

“It makes the potion a little more potent,” Draco replied mysteriously.

“This is what happens when your godfather just happens to be one of the best Potions Masters Hogwarts has ever seen,” she informed me, giving me a pointed stare then rolling her eyes at Malfoy. 

He smiled as he held out his hand once more to catch a few purple-ish buds that looked like lavender and began crushing them into the cauldron.

A few moments later, I inhaled deeply as the scent of lavender added itself to the warming layer pervading the room.

“Why’d you add lavender?” Ginny asked, also taking a deep breath. “That’s not usually in a Hangover potion.”

“It’s calming and soothing, and a great remedy for headaches,” Draco replied. 

“Also, it tastes nice with the lemon and ginger. I’ve been adding it for years.” 

Two glasses zoomed over and hovered just beside him and he carefully ladled some of the potion into each before sending them to land gently before us. 

Ginny and I both took a sip and my eyes slid shut immediately.

It was warm and soothing, and he’d been right. 

The lavender _did_ taste awesome with the lemon and ginger. 

I took another sip and the pounding in my head began to reside and I breathed a sigh of relief.

“Damn, Malfoy,” Ginny sighed. “That’s a damn good potion. I can’t believe you figured out a way to make this taste good.” 

He didn’t say anything, just smirked knowingly as he took his seat again. 

“Does Harry make you brew this for him all the time?” Ginny asked just as I said:

“I’ll bet your Boston boy toy was thrilled when he found out you could do shit like this.” 

Ginny’s eyes slanted over to me guiltily, her glass still tilted to her lips.

“Sorry, babe,” she shrugged apologetically, apparently for her lack of potions skills.

“Never made it for him,” Draco replied, taking another sip of his coffee. 

“Did he ever find out you were a wizard?” Ginny asked. 

“Eventually,” he replied, and something in his tone made me think that this dude’s reaction hadn’t been quite the same as mine had been.   
  


_“Um… look, we need to talk,” Ginny had blurted out one night as we were making dinner._

_It’d been a Tuesday, and I was a fervent believer in Taco Tuesdays, so the kitchen had been a bit of a mess, with taco meat and beans simmering on the stove, and me carefully dicing tomatoes, onions, and jalapenos to make pico._

_Ginny had been in charge of shredding the lettuce and the cheese._

_I’d almost dropped my knife and stared at her worriedly._

_“Shit. You’re breaking up with me.”_

_I’d panicked, actually._

_“What’s the problem? Can’t we talk about it?… we can fix it, can’t we? Or at least try?”_

_“No,” she’d sighed, looking_ _a bit_ _relieved and shaking her head._ _“_ _It’s not… no. It’s nothing like that._

_“Quite the opposite, really.”_

_The panic had subsided a bit at her words, and I’d resumed breathing normally._

_“Ok, well, then… let’s talk. Whatever it is, we’ll work our way through it.”_

_“Merlin, Micah, you don’t know how glad I am to hear you say that.”_

_“Swearing on your silly, little made-up wizard, again, hmm?” I’d teased._

_I’d always found the way she said “Merlin” endearing._

_I’d glanced up, expecting to see her rolling her eyes, but_ _instead,_ _had found her intense blue gaze fixed on me, and I’d stared back, curious._

_“He’s not made-up,” she’d said finally, and I’d raised a brow in response._

_“He’s… he_ was _very real,” she’d continued. “As are all witches and wizards.”_

_I’d just stared, waiting for her to burst out laughing or roll her eyes and throw a bit of the shredded lettuce at me, or… something._

_“You’re… you’re serious,” I’d managed finally, the panic returning somewhat._

_I still hadn’t believed that witches and wizards were real, you understand._

_I’d thought maybe she’d hit her head or was high as a fucking kite._

_Or, Heaven forbid, that she was_ _really_ _one of those idiots who dressed in black lace and carried around a black kitten and waited at the Granary Burial on Solstice for the sun to rise and claimed that her rose quartz was “calming,” and that she could “read” people’s energy._

_“I am,” she’d replied, and I continued to stare at her._

_She didn’t_ seem _befuddled or loopy._

 _“And… I am one,” she’d finished, tilting her chin up the way she always did when she_ _was determined_ _or feeling a little scared and trying to be brave._

 _“_ _A real one_ _,” she’d added. “Not… one of the annoying wannabes you see around here.”_

“ _I don’t see how you_ _could possibly_ _be serious, but I’m pretty fucking sure you’re not joking.”_

_She’d pressed her lips together and looked around the kitchen nervously._

_“Do… do you want me to show you?”_

_“What do you mean?” I’d asked, sure she wasn’t offering to pull a rabbit out of a hat or a quarter out from behind my ear._

_“I mean… do you want me to show you,” she’d repeated. “That… that I’m a witch.”_

_Sure, why the hell not, I’d mused and nodded._

_A small stick had suddenly flown_ _through the air_ _into her outstretched hand._

 _Holy shit, I’d thought, watching as she’d drawn a deep breath and swished the wand and the cheese_ _began to grate_ _itself, and I reached behind myself to grip the counter as though I might, literally, faint._

 _“I… um… think you can understand why I didn’t lead with that… um… when we met…” she’d whispered,_ _observing me carefully_ _._

_I think I might have nodded?_

_Or tried to,_ _anyways_ _._

 _“I_ _have no idea_ _what the hell to say.”_

_“Um. Hopefully, maybe, repeating that something you said earlier about how we can work our way through this again?”_

_“Well, yeah_ _, of course_ _,” I’d reassured her immediately. “I mean, you’re still… you, right?”_

 _“Yes_ _, of course,_ _I’m me,” she’d laughed and looked relieved. “Just… you know… with a little extra magic.”_

_She’d flashed me a mischievous grin then._

_“I think you’ll find it’s rather nice, shacking up with a witch,” she’d informed me, reaching out and hugging me tentatively._

_I’d felt her relax immediately and had thought to myself that she was_ _absolutely_ _worth the insanity the next few weeks_ _were going to_ _be while I learned more about this._

 _“I mean, I’m definitely_ _not ever_ _grating cheese myself again,” I’d joked, still watching in amazement as the cheese continued to grate itself._

 _It hadn’t even occurred to me to ask her to stop it because the entire block_ _was nearly shredded_ _at this point._

_“Yep, and you’ll be happy to know that the bathroom’s not as tiny as you think it is. Especially the shower.”_

“ _Well, goddamn, Gin,” I’d laughed. “You_ _probably should_ _have led with that….”_

“How’d you tell him?” Ginny asked, shaking me out of my daydream. “Do you know what Lee Jordan did? 

“Guess! You _have_ to guess.” 

“Um… wrote it in the sand on a romantic holiday?” Draco offered, obviously joking, and I laughed at the thought of some dude writing ‘Baby, I’m a wizard!’ in the wet sand with a stick.

Or maybe he would've used his wand? 

“Shut up, Draco,” Ginny retorted. “Be serious.” 

“I give up. Tell me.”

“He kept subtly watching movies and TV shows that mentioned witches or witchcraft, and, somehow, got her really into that show, _Witches of Waverly Place_ , and one night, when she was gushing about how cool witches were, and it was too bad the dad had to give up his magic to marry his wife, he was like ‘Ta-da! Surprise! I’m a wizard!’ Isn’t that bloody _genius_?!” 

“Yeah. Except he had to watch that show,” Draco pointed out, then frowned in thought. 

“Still better than blurting it out, like I did, I suppose,” he mused with a shrug. 

“What’d he say when he found out you were a wizard?” I asked, draining the dregs of my coffee before looking across the table at Draco expectantly. 

I was always curious to learn the reactions of other Muggles who’d also discovered that their partners were magical. 

Draco faltered, and I kicked myself immediately. 

“He kind of freaked out, actually.” 

Ginny smiled at him sympathetically, and it dawned on me that this wasn’t a whole lot different for them than it had been for me to come out to my friends and family.

You had no idea what sort of reaction you were going to get and whether or not you’d still have a relationship after the revelation.

Ugh. 

And, for Gin and Draco, they’d had to _also_ come out as queer. 

Talk about a double-whammy. 

“Apparently witches and wizards are of the devil and Ben just could not forgive that… nevermind that he was an absolute slut for cock,” he added, rolling his eyes. 

“Which… I’m _pretty_ sure is also frowned upon in that little Bible book some of you Muggles are so fond of…”

He grinned over at me as he finished his coffee. 

“Wait just a damn minute,” Ginny interjected, shaking her head as if clearing it. “He really went _religious_ on you about it? What the actual fuck?!”

Draco shrugged.

“Super-Catholic upbringing,” he offered as explanation. “I guess he could only go against the Bible one sin at a time.” 

“Well, I hope this stupid Ben’s hungover somewhere, with no amazing wizard boyfriend to whip him up a hangover potion, and regretting his stupid decision,” I declared, raising the last of my hangover potion before tossing it back. 

Draco snorted and looked up as Ron and Hermione staggered in. 

“Merlin, fuck me,” Ron groaned, slumping into the seat next to me and dropping his head onto the table. 

“Please, for the love of all things holy, make sure I don’t let George talk me into ‘just _one_ more shot’ ever again.” 

“We could try,” Hermione retorted, sinking into the seat beside Ron, looking no less miserable than he did. “But you know we won’t listen.” 

“What’s this?” Ron asked as a glass of Draco’s potion set itself before him.

“Hangover potion,” Ginny informed him. “And it tastes _good_.” 

“Right,” Ron muttered sceptically, lifting the glass to his lips.

“Wow, Draco,” Hermione interrupted, holding her glass out in front of her and inspecting it appreciatively. “This is some potion.” 

“Bloody hell,” Ron agreed, taking a larger sip. “That _is_ good.”

“What are you doing up so early, anyway?” he continued, looking at Draco and smirking. “I thought Harry was going to tie you to the bed and never let you leave, the way he was clutching at you last night.” 

“Oooh, Weasley, kinky,” Draco drawled, throwing Ron an obscenely lewd look. “I _like_.” 

“Haha, funny,” Ron retorted, downing the rest of his potion.

“But really, though, we need to get Harry drunk more often,” Ron mused.

Ginny giggled and Hermione smacked Ron’s arm playfully. 

“No, I’m serious,” Ron insisted, rubbing at his arm. “I mean, when we were in our early twenties, we just went out and got sloshed all the time, but now that we’re older, and grown-up…” he paused at Hermione’s snort of laughter. 

“Ok, _trying_ to be grown-up,” he amended. “We never see him sloshed anymore, but he’s so goddamned funny.” 

He paused, then turned to his wife, flinging his arms around her and leaning nearly all of his weight into her side, the perfect parody of a happily-drunk, affectionate friend.

“Hey…hey, ‘ _Mione_ ,” Ron slurred, pretending to be drunk Harry. “You’re the fucking _best._ You know that? The _best_.”

Hermione was giggling, despite having her eyes squeezed shut as though she was trying not to laugh and encourage Ron further. 

“You always know what to do and… hold-hold on… there’s a fit bloke I’m making eyes at…” Ron gave Draco an exaggerated wink before turning back to Hermione. 

“Okay, I… I _think_ I just pulled, so I hafta go… but, you know I _love_ you, right?”

Hermione collapsed into peals of laughter as she took over their impression of Drunk Harry, clasping her arms around Ron’s neck. 

“And, I love _you_ too, Ron… I’m just not gonna hug you too close.” 

Here, Hermione executed the perfect performance of a drunk person trying to straighten up, holding Ron at an arm’s distance.

“‘cause I don’… don’ wan’ you to get the wrong _idea_.” 

“Are you arseholes making fun of me?” Harry demanded groggily, appearing in the doorway, rubbing at one eye with his palm, wearing pyjamas and a t-shirt, his hair sticking up even more than normal. 

“I bloody hate you _all_ ,” he informed us, collapsing into the chair next to Draco so he was facing sideways and slumping face-first into his boyfriend, burying his face in Draco’s neck to block out the light. 

“You might want to take a minute to put up a few glamors,” Ginny informed him, grinning at the dark purple mark that was visible where his neck met his collarbone.

“Mmmph,” came Harry’s reply. “You do it… ‘m too tired.”

Draco rolled his eyes and smoothed a hand over Harry’s neck and the mark disappeared, and I had to admit, as awesome as magic with a wand was, this wandless shit was just fucking bananas. 

“Here,” Draco was reaching for another glass of his potion hovering towards him.

“Drink this,” he instructed, lifting Harry’s head from where it was still buried in his neck and raising the glass to his lips. 

“You look like you could use it,” he added, placing a kiss just above Harry’s ear as Harry visibly perked up and took the glass, gulping the potion down in nearly one enormous swallow. 

“Thank fucking Merlin,” he sighed, the color returning to his cheeks as the potion began to take effect. 

“If I weren’t already _clearly_ taken with you, I sure would be now,” he added, smiling appreciatively at Draco as he finished the rest of the potion then set the glass down. 

“What’s the matter with your voice, Harry?” Ron asked with mock curiosity. “You sound a tad raspy.” 

Harry merely flipped Ron off as he nestled against Draco’s side, looking like a very sober version of Ron and Hermione’s impersonations, and I had to assume that Harry was just naturally physically affectionate. 

“You’d be raspy too if you’d spent most of last night swallowing twenty-seven centimetres,” he retorted. 

I launched into my usual panicked attempt to quickly divide that number by 2.5, like I always did whenever centimetres were mentioned around me, while everyone else burst into raucous laughter. 

Everyone, that is, except for Ginny, who was staring wide-eyed and tight-lipped at her mother, who was standing, jaw hanging, in the doorway.

“Just… do yourself a favour, Haz, and don’t look at the doorway right now,” she advised Harry with a brief grin as everyone else’s laughter faded away.

Harry let out an awkward sort of squeak and flung his head dramatically smack back into the middle of Draco’s chest.

“I’m never looking up ever again,” Harry declared, and I could see his cheeks burning and the tips of his ears turn red from where I sat.

“Really, dear,” Molly chided teasingly, walking into the kitchen and flicking her wand at the stove so that a fire lit beneath the other burners. “I know twenty-seven’s lengthy, but I think your head placement’s a tad off.” 

The table erupted into another round of boisterous laughter and Ron’s face reddened to match Harry’s own as several frying pans came zooming to settle upon the open flames. 

“Mom!” he sputtered, horrified.

Harry, I noticed, somehow buried his face even more into Draco’s chest while his boyfriend joined in the laughter, clearly as surprised as we all were at Molly’s quick return. 

“What?” she demanded. “We were all young and inappropriate once.”

“Don’t think it just completely disappears because you decide to start a family,” she added, zooming a package of sausages towards her.

A can of baked beans, mushrooms, a few tomatoes, and a carton of eggs also flew towards her, the mushrooms and tomatoes setting themselves on a cutting board where a knife began slicing them. 

“I take it none of you has eaten breakfast yet?” she added, looking at us over her shoulder as she emptied the sausages into the pan. 

She seemed to have just noticed the cauldron simmering on the stove.

“What’s this?” she asked, looking at us curiously, then back at the potion.

“Draco brewed a Hangover potion,” I supplied, happy to know the answer to something for once. “And it _tastes_ good!” 

“A Hangover potion that tastes good?” she turned to look at Draco, impressed.

“You could bottle that up and sell it for a pretty penny on Diagon Alley.” 

“Thank you,” he replied, flashing Molly a genuine smile as he continued to rub Harry’s back; Harry still had his face buried in Draco’s chest. 

“It was smart of you to brew a big batch,” Molly said, pouring herself a cup of coffee and taking a seat at the head of the table. “I have a feeling we’ll all be needing some tomorr...” 

“Hello?” A voice called out, cutting Molly off. 

“Are you all in the kitchen?” and two pairs of little feet came running into the room.

“Nana!” Victoire, Bill’s oldest daughter, came barrelling at Molly, arms outstretched, followed by an equally eager little Dominique. 

“Oh! My sweet little darlings! Come, give Nana a hug!” 

Molly knelt on the floor beside her chair, arms outstretched towards the two little human bowling balls headed her way. 

“Morning, how is everyone? Hungover, as usual?” Bill asked as he entered the kitchen, carrying his youngest, little Louis.

He set him gently on the floor just in front of Molly so the toddler could easily join the group hug and grinned down at us as we responded with choruses of “good” and “fine.”

“Where are Charlie and George?” he asked, taking in the faces surrounding the table. 

“Still sleeping,” Ron replied. “They had a _really_ good time last night.”

“Hi, Micah,” he greeted smiling at me. “How’s your first wizard Samhain going so far?”

“Outstanding,” I replied. “Learning a lot _.”_

 _“_ What’s wrong with Harry?” he asked, frowning as his eyes landed on Harry, who was still buried in Draco’s chest. 

“He was bragging about some of his more grown-up skills and now he’s embarrassed to look at Mum,” Ginny answered, smacking Harry’s middle finger that had reached out and extended itself in front of her face. 

Bill burst out laughing.

“Oy, Harry, come on out and say hello,” he urged, and Harry’s finger moved to gesture in the direction of Bill’s voice. 

“Malfoy,” Bill blurted, as though just realizing who Harry was snuggling into and nodding curtly. “Nice to see you.”

I noticed that his voice went a little cool and Draco twisted around and reached his hand out to Bill, also appearing quite formal. 

“Likewise,” he replied warily as Bill accepted his hand briefly. 

“Bill, go get George and Charlie, will you? Breakfast is almost ready and there’s loads of work to be done before sundown,” Molly instructed.

She, too, had sensed the tension.

Bill glared at his mother as though he knew exactly what she was doing, then stood from the table and headed off towards the living room and upstairs to rouse his brothers. 

“All right, then, who’s ready for some breakfast?” Molly asked cheerfully, and now plates of fried eggs, sausages, baked beans, and grilled mushrooms and tomatoes were swishing around the kitchen and landing before each of us. 

My stomach growled, and I honestly hadn’t realized how goddamn hungry I was. 

Even Harry lifted his face from Draco’s chest to dig in. 

“Breakfast,” George muttered a few moments later, stumbling into the kitchen, still not looking fully awake. “Excellent.” 

Charlie followed, rubbing at his eyes, with Bill bringing up the rear, smiling the sort of shit-eating grin that only an older brother can smile and I had to wonder what he’d done to rouse his younger brothers.

“Thanks, mom,” Charlie shot a grateful look up at Molly as he took a seat beside Draco. 

“Morning, loves,” he turned to coo teasingly at Draco and Harry. “How was our night last night?” 

Harry tried to shoot Charlie his best glare around a mouthful of egg but Draco, who, I was learning, was a hard feather to ruffle, merely batted his eyelashes at Charlie and replied:

“Would’ve been _so_ much more exciting had you joined us, _darling_ ,” as he slung an arm around Charlie’s shoulders and pulled him closer. 

“I’ve heard tell you _adore_ playing with dragons….” 

He flashed a teasing grin at Charlie as he released him and went back to eating his breakfast, the rest of the table snickering at Draco’s quick return.

Which, I’m gonna be totally honest, had flown right over my head. 

“Merlin, I suppose I walked right into that one,” Charlie managed, once he’d safely swallowed his bite. 

“Um… at the risk of sounding stupid,” I cut in hesitantly, feeling, well, stupid.

“I’m not really getting the dragon reference here.” 

There were a few good-natured giggles and Draco swallowed a laugh as he dabbed at his mouth with his napkin.

“Not to worry,” he replied. “Draco means dragon in Latin.

“I was named for the constellation of the same name… my family sort of had an obsession.” 

“That’s putting it mildly,” George snorted. 

“What constellation are you going to name your future little Malfoys after, do you reckon?” he giggled, taking a bite out of a sausage.

“Ursa Major,” Draco replied without batting an eye, earning still more laughter from the table. 

“The second-born will be Ursa Minor, naturally,” Hermione added, and even Draco had to stifle a laugh around his mouthful of food. 

“What else needs to get done for tonight, Molly?” Harry asked once the laughter had died down. 

“I know there's loads of stuff to do… assign me something.” 

“Oh, you’ll all get assigned something soon enough, don’t you worry, dears,” Molly promised, and I realized that I had no idea what sort of preparations might be needed for Samhain. 

“We’ll need to finish all the decorations and setting up the field and bonfire, then, of course, once your father returns with Amos and Xenophilius, we’ll have to prepare the game they’ve caught and cook all the food.

"Micah, you and Ginny can help with Victoire and Dominique to gather decorations and set the tables. We’ll need two for the families, and then, of course, one to honour the deceased… Merlin, there are so many of them….”

“George and I can get the firewood,” Bill spoke up. “Ron, why don’t you and Harry set up the usual spot in the clearing so it’ll be ready when we get back?”

“Draco, you can help us with that,” Ron added, taking care to ensure Draco was included, and Bill scowled.

“No… Fleur had mentioned she wanted you to help her with… something… for some… I dunno, some French ceremony thing,” he admitted grudgingly. 

“She said you’d know what that was,” he added. 

“Le Sacre du Voile?” Draco asked, looking surprised. 

“Sure, sounds like French to me,” Bill replied, shrugging

“She says the veil is supposed to be unusually thin tonight,” he added, still eyeing Draco warily. 

“That’s going to require a lot of preparation,” Draco was musing, frowning and seemingly unaware of Bill’s animosity this time. 

“You know, to make sure…” he paused and bit his lip. “I mean, we wouldn’t want to open the space up to anything unwelcome…..”

“Right,” Bill replied, giving Draco a pointed stare. 

“We’re not still on opposing sides as to who’d be welcome here and who’d not, are we?”

“Of course not,” Draco snapped, eyes flashing in anger, and I worried for a second that I might be witnessing a non-play wizard duel soon. 

“Speaking of Fleur,” Hermione cut in smoothly. “Where is she?” 

“She’ll be Portkeying in soon,” Bill replied. “She nipped back to France for a bit to get some things for this ceremony, whatever” he gestured at Draco.

“What’s this ceremony for?” Ron asked, frowning as he chewed on a bit of toast. 

“It’s the Rite of the Veil,” Draco began.

“It opens a space to the spirit realm and invites those that have passed to join us. The call will be particularly powerful to those who have a strong connection with anyone present within the space,” he finished, glancing up at Molly, then back at Ron. 

“You think…” Ron began, then paused. “Fred?” 

I knew that Ginny’s brother, George’s twin, had died when he’d been quite young during some sort of war.

She had gone pale and quiet when she’d mentioned it so I hadn’t pressed for further details.

I assumed wizard politicians disagreed on things just like our Muggle ones did and wizard and witches had to volunteer to fight their battles for them, just like we did. 

Draco’s lips were pressed into a thin line and he was glancing off to the side but he managed to nod almost imperceptibly. 

“What… what about my mum and dad?” Harry asked quietly. “And Sirius?”

“Dumbledore? Snape?” Molly asked, and I wondered if these people had also died fighting wizard wars. 

Draco shrugged.

“Sure. Maybe.” 

Everyone seemed to be focusing on Draco, and I had the impression they were all thinking the same thing. 

“What about your dad?” Ginny asked finally, chin jutting forward bravely. 

Draco’s eyes snapped up to meet hers.

“Fortunately, he has no soul,” he replied, offering her a wry smile. “So not an issue.” 

I must have looked shocked because Draco’s gaze flickered over to me and he offered me a reassuring smile.

“I know that might sound harsh, but…” he paused, trying to think of how to explain this to me.

“He doesn’t,” he stated finally, as though pronouncing a verdict. “And so much the better for us all.” 

***

A short while later, Draco and I found ourselves wandering the garden and woods surrounding the house looking for flowers and other things to decorate the tables for tonight’s gathering. 

He’d offered to help since it’d keep him close to the Burrow and available to begin working with Fleur to prepare for the veil ceremony later. 

“So… you and Bill seem… friendly,” I blurted out finally as I cut some flowers with the muggle scissors George had found in his dad’s workshop. 

After determining that Arthur hadn’t put any crazy spells or altered their function in any way, George handed them to me ceremoniously, solemnly swearing that his father would never miss them. 

Draco paused, hands stretched mid-air towards a bunch of gorgeous reddish-purple-coloured flowers and eyed me curiously. 

“I suppose,” he replied, hands dropping fully to his sides as he turned to face me, head tilting slightly to one side. 

“But that’s to be expected, given the circumstances, don’t you think?” he asked, something about his tone and expression making me think that he already knew I had no idea what he was hinting at. 

“Look,” I sighed, also putting aside my task at hand to turn and face him. “I don’t know why I get the feeling you can read minds, but.”

I paused.

“Is that even a thing you guys can do?” 

“It’s fairly rare,” he replied. “And I can, but I’m not.”

I frowned up at him in confusion and he grinned.

“I mean, I’m not in your head right now. That’d be rude,” he clarified. “But I don’t think it takes a Legilimens to figure out that you don’t know a whole lot about these wizarding wars that nearly ripped our world apart about a dozen years ago.” 

Nearly ripped their world apart? 

I shook my head, and Draco’s eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“What _do_ you know about the war?” he asked curiously. “The one that killed Ginny’s brother?” 

“She said he’d died fighting in a battle, but she nearly started crying and I didn’t want to press for details,” I admitted and Draco nodded.

“I don’t blame you,” he sighed. “However, I think you’ll need to know many more details about that war to fully understand this world, and, frankly, your partner’s place in it.” 

He paused and reached up to take the bunch of flowers and float them neatly to the basket set aside to gather them and eyed me warily.

“Forgive me for saying so, but I _do_ believe that’s something you ought to hear and discuss with Gin, and not me,” he added.

“What I will tell you is that my family was on the wrong side; my father and aunt were two of the evilest and most power-hungry you could imagine and probably the most fervent supporters of Voldemort.”

“The diabolical maniac who led the wrong side,” he clarified, seeing my confusion. 

“But you turned out ok,” I reasoned, frowning, still not understanding Bill’s hostility. 

Especially since the rest of the family seemed to be able to put Draco’s family history behind them.

“Ended up on the right side, and all?”

“I suppose so,” he agreed, still cutting flowers, and I got the impression he was purposely avoiding my gaze. 

“But I _wasn’t_ on that side twelve years ago,” he reminded me. "I suppose one could argue that I was forced or, at best, neutral, but... that's still the wrong side... when you're fighting a war like that... if you're not unequivocally on the right side, you've chosen wrong. And I made those choices." 

“And, as for Bill and I, I’d say our interactions are right about where they should be, seeing as I’m the one responsible for the scars you see on his face.” 

I gasped, head jerking round to look him in the eye.

“Why’d they tell me it was a werewolf that did that?” I demanded. “Oh my god. Were they just fucking with me?! Those _fuckers!”_

Draco chuckled and shook his head.

“No,” he assured me. 

“It _was_ a werewolf that did that, but I was the one that let the werewolf, and other attackers, into the safe space… Hogwarts,” he corrected, remembering that I knew damn well what Hogwarts was. 

“I let them into Hogwarts where Bill was stationed to help protect the other students,” he paused and shut his eyes briefly. “Merlin, I’m really not proud of that. That was a terrible thing I did.” 

‘Well… please don’t think I am, in any way, trying to equate any of the dumb shit I did as a teenager to what you just told me,” I began, standing on my tip-toes and trying to sling an arm around his shoulders, “But I think most of us regret about ninety-nine percent of the idiot shit we did as teenagers if that helps.” 

Draco laughed and grabbed my arm and wrapped it around his waist as he threw his own arm around my shoulders.

“Thanks,” he said, turning us towards another thicket of flowers covered in a fiery rainbow of trailing snapdragons. 

“That means a lot,” he added, and I had the impression that, despite the levity of our current situation, he was deadly sincere.

“Oy!” Harry’s voice called out suddenly. “Get your hands off my man!” 

We turned to see Harry and Fleur grinning at us as they walked across the yard. 

Draco also grinned and, next thing I knew, he had turned towards me and wrapped me in a possessive hug, resting his chin atop my head as he smirked over at Harry. 

“You alright with this?” he asked quietly, making sure I was ok with being used to taunt Harry a bit, which, I’ll be honest, was nice of him to consider. 

I just laughed and returned the hug, sliding one hand up his back and the other down to squeeze his ass, somehow knowing that Draco wouldn’t be offended or feel violated at that. 

“Damn, Harry!” I yelled over Draco’s loud cries of “Ooh yeah, baby!” as he danced us around in a circle, wiggling his hips almost obscenely.

I, of course, danced around right along with him.

“I can see what you like so much about this one!” I added, giving Harry an exaggerated wink. 

“Nice try,” Harry retorted, he and Fleur also chuckling as they reached us. “But it’s his front end that I’m rather taken with.” 

I couldn’t help it. 

I nearly doubled over giggling as Draco stepped away from me and glared at Harry in a pretend huff. 

“Shh, Harry,” Draco pretended to scold, pulling Harry into an actual romantic embrace. “You _know_ how shy I am and that sort of talk in mixed company embarrasses me so….” 

Both Fleur and I snorted, although she managed to make hers look dainty and disdainful and French all at the same time, whereas mine just came across as… well, a snort. 

“Hello, Micah,” she greeted me with a smile and her thick accent. “You are enjoying your morning here, with these silly boys like everyone else?”

“How could I not?” I answered honestly, laughing and gesturing at the two of them, who were still pressed up against each other, whispering, and laughing, and sharing brief kisses.

“Your daughters are with Ginny on that side,” I added, pointing to the other side of the Burrow.

“Ah, thank you,” she smiled again. “I will go and find them after Draco and I have…” 

She broke off suddenly as Harry and Draco suddenly disappeared, their little cuddles and kisses clearly having been much more serious than either of us had noticed.

“Well…” Fleur smirked down at me. “I suppose I will just have to start these preparations on my own… and leave the harder parts for Draco to finish up, _non?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I love your comments! Thoughts? Theories? Who's showing up at Fleur & Draco's ceremony?


	38. Payback's a Bitch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What do our favourite boys get up to once they Apparate away from the Burrow?  
> (aka, felt it was time we had something resembling smut. We deserve it.)
> 
> P.S. Felt you should all know that this was posted from the plane. Not sure why it tickles me so, but there you have it. You are all officially receiving smut from 11km in the air. You're welcome.

_Saturday Morning_

_31 October 2009_

_Harry’s POV_

_“_ Harry, love, did you really just Apparate us all the way back home?” Draco asked, chuckling as he continued to taunt and tease me with soft kisses and teasing glides of his tongue along my bottom lip, gently pulling it between his own. 

“Mmm,” I replied, hands moving to feel for the bottom of his jumper, needing it off of him already, but fumbling because they kept getting sidetracked. 

By the silky tangle of his hair at the nape of his neck.

The taut ripple of muscle as my fingers trailed down his chest and abdomen. 

The front pocket and waistband of his trousers because I needed to pull him even closer to me. 

To feel his cock grinding even harder against me while I groaned my desire into his mouth because goddamn it, did he have to be such a goddamned tease _all_ the time? 

“‘s your fault,” I managed, fingers finally curling themselves into soft cashmere, tugging upwards, urging the luxurious barrier that stood between Draco’s smooth skin and my seeking hands out of the way. 

“No, it’s not,” he argued, tongue still battling with mine as his hands reached down to cover my own and keep them from pulling his jumper further up.

“Mm-hmm,” I countered, still kissing and tugging, despite his thumbs rubbing soothing circles over the backs of my hands, trying to calm me down a little. 

“You’re the one who started it,” I reminded him. 

“You’re the one who started kissing and teasing and telling me all the naughty things going through that filthy mind of yours.” 

Because he had. 

I’d only been trying to help Fleur find him so they could start doing whatever it was they had to do for their ceremony tonight.

And then Draco had pulled me close, whispering to me all the obscene things he’d wanted to do to me the next time he had a chance, and what the bloody hell else was I supposed to do besides Apparate us somewhere when he’d had me nearly cross-eyed and panting with need?

I wasn’t about to fling him to the ground and have my way with him in front of Micah and Fleur.

I mean, I had _some_ decency.

“No,” Draco argued back, hands gripping mine more tightly and stopping them short of their goal of ridding him of his sweater. 

I went to vanish it, but Draco’s hands tightened even further and his eyes narrowed.

“Don’t you dare, Potter,” he warned softly, and I knew better than to disobey _that_ voice.

It was the same voice he used when I distracted him from his work. 

It meant I was going to get it, and Merlin, I’d be lying if I said that didn’t make me a thousand times randier. 

I stilled, blinking up at him, wondering what research I could possibly be keeping him from right now. 

“I didn’t mean to distract you,” I told him honestly. 

Then, because I remembered that he was supposed to be helping Fleur.

“Is Fleur going to be upset?” 

He paused and frowned down at me, letting our hands drop, still clasped, between us. 

“Fleur?” he asked, then smiled softly as realisation hit. 

“No,” he assured me, leaning down to kiss me again. “We’ll have plenty of time to get everything ready.” 

“It just… it sounded like I’d distracted you again,” I confessed, stretching up to kiss him.

“Harry,” he sighed, returning the kiss and dropping my hands, allowing me to tangle them in his hair as his own dipped into the waistband of my trousers to pull me even closer. 

“You always distract me,” he reminded me, mouth just barely brushing my own as he spoke. 

“I don’t mean to,” I apologised, pulling his head down and forcing him to kiss me properly.

“Except for, you know, when I do,” I added cheekily between kisses. 

“Mm, well aware,” Draco murmured, tongue lapping and teasing at my mouth, withdrawing every single goddamned time I tried to capture him and make him stay for a proper kiss, and god-fucking-damn it, you’d think with all the practice I had kissing the sodding bastard, I’d be able to win him at his own game instead of just barely grazing the tip of his tongue with my own before it retreated and I followed, moaning into his mouth like a thirsty, begging whore. 

“And then I have to punish you,” he continued between my moans. 

Merlin, _yes_ , please, I begged silently. 

He chuckled, and I thought that maybe I'd groaned this last bit aloud as he untangled my hands from around his neck and took a tiny step back, eyes darkening as they raked over me. 

“And, for some reason,” he continued, bracing one hand on either side of my head as he leaned down to whisper his next words in my ear, just before dipping his head down to suck and lap at the mark on my neck from last night. 

“I think you _like_ for me to punish you.” 

My lusty moan and the way my hands flew to clutch at the back of his head, attempting to hold him there, all but begging him to continue marking me, was probably a more resounding “yes” than if I’d screamed it at the top of my lungs. 

“Which is why I’m so glad you thought to Apparate us back home,” he continued, straightening and stepping away from me, leaving me sagging against the wall, looking like a wanton, dishevelled mess, I’m sure, breath coming in ragged puffs as I stared up at him, eyes pleading, mouth red and begging, the newly-purpled bruise standing out against the pale skin on my neck. 

“As it happens, I’ve been fantasising about this particular little punishment for a while now. 

“I’ve just been waiting for the _perfect_ time to do it,” he added, turning and striding towards the bedroom.

“Stay where you are,” Draco instructed without even turning, as though he’d known I’d just pushed off from the wall, eager to follow. 

I groaned, slumping back against the hallway wall, already frustrated and desperate and the bastard hadn’t even started yet. 

He was doing this on purpose, you realise. 

Instead of Accio-ing whatever it was he needed, he’d physically gone to get it in the bedroom or bathroom or whatever hidey-hole he’d stashed it in, without magic, leaving me to wait, imagination going wild with the possibilities. 

Because, Merlin, my boyfriend’s vivid imagination did not disappoint. 

After that first time, when he’d magicked two dildos to fuck me, spread out across his dining room table, he’d continued to come up with one ingenious punishment after another, and, to be honest, distracting him while he worked had become somewhat of a favourite hobby of mine. 

There’d been the time where he’d insisted he was just reading a book in the bath (and definitely not trying to tease me), only to smirk knowingly when I’d found myself walking smack into an invisible barrier surrounding him in the tub when I’d tried to join him. 

He’d continued reading, as though he were blameless.

“What, Harry, you’ve never read in the bath before?” he’d asked innocently.

I’d spent the rest of the afternoon being plagued by all manner of lewd and detailed scenes of Draco pleasuring himself, in nearly every way imaginable, all in that fucking bathtub, noting that he’d appeared to be younger in some of them so I’d known I was seeing actual events from Draco’s past, this somehow only adding to how fucking hot those images were. 

And the invisible barrier around Draco and his stupid bathtub had gotten larger every time I’d decided to go barging in there until I hadn’t even been able to enter the bathroom and had had to stare at him from the doorway. 

Even hurling all of my power at said barrier had been useless.

Draco had been nearly crying he’d been laughing so hard by the time he’d finished reading his book and had taken down the barrier, letting me ravage him in the tub after hours of torment. 

Another time, he’d thought it’d be funny to serve me my comeuppance next day at practice, where I’d suddenly been besieged with vivid reminders of exactly what we’d been up to just a few nights before. 

I’d been furious until he’d nodded understandingly and said:

“I know. It’s _horrible_ when your boyfriend tries to distract you while you work.” 

Then there’d been the time where he’d immediately dropped everything, and I’d (stupidly) thought I’d won that round, and had lost myself in the feel of Draco’s hands gliding over my naked skin, followed by his mouth and tongue, seemingly intent on kissing, licking, and sucking at every centimetre of me, and I’d been dizzy and frantic with the need to have him _in_ me, because how in Merlin’s name had it been possible to feel like Draco was touching and kissing me everywhere all at once?

And then I’d snapped my eyes open to see him standing beside the bed, one elbow propped on the palm of his other hand, cradling his chin, looking down at me with that pleased little smile he always smiled when I finally realised what was going on. 

“Enjoy yourself, kitten,” he’d smirked. “I’ll be with you when I’ve finished my work.” 

I’d been left to the exquisite torture of every touch of his hands and stroke of his tongue ghosting themselves across, around, and inside me on loop, as though I were being taunted and tended to by twenty Dracos for nearly two hours before he’d returned, only to watch, mesmerised, as I’d continued to writhe and beg on the mattress before him, finally declaring that he hadn’t known it was possible to be jealous of himself before cancelling the spell and taking over the ghostly ministrations himself. 

Still another time, he’d asked me to choose between his cock and one of Bessie’s treacle tarts and, of _course_ , I’d thought he’d been joking, because why would I even _try_ to decide between the two?

And then the bastard had gone and eaten every bite of said tart with me looking on in a sort of sad, disbelieving horror.

Only to add, as he’d wiped a stray bit of treacle from the corner of his mouth, licking and sucking it lewdly from his finger, that, because of my indecision, I had also given up the privilege of touching his cock for an entire week. 

I’d been so bloody angry, I’d vowed to stay away from his stupid cock for an entire second week on top of that, just to give him a taste of his own medicine, but then the bastard, probably knowing I would try to retaliate, had shown up with a small jar of treacle that had, “ _unfortunately_ ” ended up in his lap, and I had, “ _somehow,”_ ended up licking every last drop from his cock, my woeful attempts at glaring and pouting up at him as I devoured two of my favourite treats only seeming to amuse him further. 

So.

You can see why I was already on edge.

“When did I distract you now?” I asked, leaning eagerly into Draco’s kiss when he returned, no obvious toy or other object that he’d fetched in sight. “From work, I mean?” 

I honestly couldn’t remember a time where I’d distracted him recently.

Well, one I hadn’t already paid for, anyway.

He chuckled, carding a hand through the hair at the nape of my neck as he deepened the kiss and I felt my clothing vanish. 

“Mmm, Harry,” he sighed, trailing little kisses along my jawline as his hands moved to turn me around so I was facing the wall, weight leaning on my arms which were bent at the elbow, forehead resting on the backs of my hands in front of me. 

“This has nothing to do with work.” 

He trailed one finger lazily down the bumps of my spine, leaning in to ghost a kiss at the nape of my neck, and I couldn’t help rolling my hips back, trying to get more contact. 

“This is for something else,” he continued, fingers trailing down my sides, thumbs running gently just along my crack as his hands continued down my hips, pulling me back against him as he pressed another kiss into the base of my neck. 

“For what?” I asked, pressing back, feeling the teasing bulge in his trousers, already knowing it would be far too long before I’d feel it slide deep inside me, and I groaned a little, my breath hitching at the anticipation already. 

“Merlin, Harry, you’re already so damned eager,” Draco chuckled, allowing himself to grind into me. “As though you didn’t get enough of this last night.” 

“I _didn’t_ ,” I shot back, thrusting back again to prove my point. 

“Well, unfortunately, you’ll not be having more of _this_ anytime soon,” he told me, mouth working along the side of my neck, and I angled my head to one side to allow him better access. 

“I’m not going to fuck you until you’re so crazed with lust you can’t see straight and you’re _actually_ crying for it.”

“So… now?” I asked, twisting my head and grinning up at him hopefully, and Draco couldn’t resist a snigger despite himself. 

“No, kitten. Patience,” he admonished with a gentle smile, moving to lean against the wall, facing me, and tapping the tip of my nose with his finger to emphasise his point.

“I don’t _want_ to be patient,” I pouted. 

“Too bad,” Draco shrugged, eyes raking over me once more. 

“You probably should’ve thought of not wanting to be patient before you all but bound me to your bed and fucked yourself open on my cock while making me watch you in that mirror,” he continued, and my eyes snapped shut.

 _Fuck_.

I was going to _get_ it. 

“You remember that, don’t you, Harry?” he asked, a soft smile curving his lips as he moved to stand behind me again, hands running down my sides once more. 

“Mm-hmm,” I nodded. “Would do it again in a heartbeat, too.” 

“No one’s asking that you don’t,” he murmured, dropping to his knees, hands trailing along the insides of my thighs, urging my legs further apart, then running back up to cradle and fondle my arse, pressing longing, open-mouthed kisses where thigh met cheek. 

“Merlin, do you have any idea how many times I’ve wanked to that particular memory in the Pensieve?” 

“Why would you wank to your Pensieve when you’ve got the real me right here?” I mumbled, salty, for some reason, that he would think to wank to a memory of me instead of gifting actual me with more of his cock like I so clearly deserved. 

Draco chuckled, still pressing kisses along the tops of my thighs and into the cheeks of my arse, driving me crazy because we both knew where this was going. 

“Well,” he pondered, giving me another dainty kiss. 

“Last weekend, for example.” Another kiss on the cheek opposite.

“You were away for a match.” 

He paused here to trace a finger down the crease of my arse, not pressing inside, just teasing. 

Wanker. 

“And you’ve already let me know, in no uncertain terms, how you feel about _me_ distracting _you_ while you work.” 

He pressed his palms into my arse then, spreading me open as he took just the tip of his tongue to trace along the seam, his sigh of contentment barely audible over my groan as I thrust back, urging him to continue. 

And he did, tongue lapping and swirling around my opening in that maddeningly slow pace he always favoured, flicking lazily at my hole, with no set rhythm so that all I could do was wait for the next leisurely stroke of his tongue, moaning and whining for more as I tried to buck my hips back against his wicked mouth as he continued to work me. 

“ _Draco_ ,” I sobbed as my legs and arms suddenly clamped down under the effects of a binding charm, and I could only try to wriggle my hips back against his face as he continued to tease and lick around my hole, gliding along my crack, tongue sliding under to tease at my perineum, the tip just barely grazing the top of my bollocks, and I was pretty damned sure I would have collapsed by now had the spell not been holding me up and open for him. 

“Oh, I’m sorry kitten,” he purred, standing up slowly behind me, making sure to press forward so as to run every centimetre of his bloody perfect body up along mine as he did so, the fucking _arsehole_. 

“Did you think all that was for you?” he continued conversationally, sounding, like he always did, as though his face hadn’t just been burried in my arse for the past several minutes.

“I just thought _I_ deserved to indulge myself a bit and got a tad carried away,” he explained, hands smoothing down my sides as he nuzzled my neck. “But you’re being punished, remember?”

“Why are your clothes still on?” I complained, choosing to ignore his silky reminder, the fibres of his wool trousers and cashmere sweater tickling and a tad scratchy against my bare skin.

“Because I won’t need them off anytime soon,” he replied, hands and mouth still trailing kisses and I whimpered because why was my life so goddamned unfair?

“The thing about watching that memory, though,” he went on, leaning against the wall, facing me once more. “I think I learnt something.”

“What? How to make your boyfriend happy by letting him pleasure himself on you like a shameless cockslut?”

Draco’s eyes darkened, and his gaze flicked down towards my arse.

“Merlin, you _are_ a cockslut, aren’t you?” he teased, smirking at me as he reached a hand into his pocket. 

“Which is why I think I’ve found the perfect recompense for you,” he added, head tilting to the side thoughtfully. 

“It took me forever to find them… they had to be perfect, see?” and I nodded, even though I had no idea what he was talking about. 

“In the end, I had to have them tailor-made,” he gave me an excited grin. “Specially for _you_ , my darling, demanding, insatiable, lusty, greedy cockslut.” 

I stared at him for a minute, watching his eyes trail over my body as he imagined my reaction to whatever it was he’d had specially made for me. 

“Have what made?” I asked finally, curiosity winning out, proverbial cat be damned.

“These,” he replied softly, hand reaching into his pocket to dangle what appeared to be three black spheres in front of me.

“Anal beads?” I asked, frowning, even though a significant part of my brain was warning me not to get too cocky and relaxed about Draco’s seemingly mundane choice of bedroom toy. 

I mean, let’s be honest. 

The man had spit-roasted me over his dining room table with two dildos spelled to fuck me and keep me on edge for hours.

Three little anal beads just didn’t seem like something Draco would be so terribly excited about. 

As I’d suspected, Draco just smirked. 

“Not quite.”

He paused, eyes leaving my own to gaze thoughtfully at the string dangling between us.

“Are you at all familiar with Ben Wa balls?” he asked, eyes shifting back to look at me expectantly. 

I shook my head, and his smile deepened, as though he had expected, and hoped for, this response. 

“I won’t bore you with the long history of it all,” he began, eyes turning back to the toy. “Suffice it to say they originated with quite a different function for ladies in mind, but some figured out that they made great sex toys.

“Unfortunately, they’re not really made for the male anatomy… too easy to get lost, and that is definitely not the goal here, hence the…”

“The string?” I interrupted, noticing the fine strand, thin as gossamer, that linked the three spheres together. 

Draco nodded.

“And the little plug at the bottom,” he added, nodding towards a small butt plug dangling just below the lowest orb. “Or had you not even noticed, so engrossed were you with the other three?” 

He pushed off the wall, leaving the toy dangling just to my left, and stood behind me again, arms coming up to cover my own in the merest ghost of an embrace, his body lining up behind mine, barely touching, his feet placed just inside my own to make sure I couldn’t close my legs even once centimetre.

“Well?” he asked softly, breath tickling my ear as he nipped then sucked at my earlobe and my eyes closed as my entire body jerked back involuntarily, seeking more contact. 

“Aren’t you going to ask?”

“Ask what?” I replied, my voice already a little breathless as I forced my eyes open to look at Draco’s creation.

“How it works? Why it makes such a fantastic toy?” 

I crooked my neck round to frown at him. 

“Isn’t it obvious?” I asked. “You’re going to shove those up my arse and make me wear them until I’m… how did you say? Until I can’t see straight and I’m actually crying?” 

Honestly, why I let Draco do the things I let him do to me, well. 

Let’s be entirely honest. 

I knew _exactly_ why I let Draco do those things to me. 

“First of all, _Potter_ ,” Draco drawled, his breath ghosting around the shell of my ear. “I won’t be _shoving_ these exquisite harbingers of bliss up your arse.” 

“I’m far too much a gentleman,” he added, even as his hands each filled themselves with a handful of my arse to give them a coy squeeze. 

“I’m going to ease them in,” he informed me, hands trailing around front to travel lightly up my hipbones and flank, barely touching, just enough to tease. 

“Slowly,” he continued. “Gently, right after I’ve made sure your sweet, little, pink pucker is stretched and ready for them.” 

Merlin, if he continued like this, I’d not be seeing straight and crying in no time, I thought, as my eyes slid shut, relishing the onslaught of Draco’s words almost as much as his hands and mouth, still taunting me with teasing touches and kisses. 

“Secondly, I don’t think you quite realise what a delightful afternoon you’re about to have on account of these three, seemingly innocent, little gems.

“You see, Harry, what makes Ben Wa balls so deviantly delicious is that they’re _weighted._ ” 

Draco pressed a lingering kiss to the side of my neck, allowing himself a brief chuckle at my sharp intake of breath.

“Weighted?” I repeated hesitantly. 

“Mmm,” he sighed. “Because that’s something I’ve learnt about you size queens. 

“You love the _weight_ of a thick cock fucking you open, hmm, kitten? Love the feel of it dragging against you on its way out as you clench this perfect arse of yours around it?” 

He gave my arse a squeeze as he sucked another bruise into the sensitive knob where my spine connected to my neck, and I couldn’t help the ragged groan I let slip out then, because, _Merlin_ , he was fucking right. 

“Oh, and there’s one last thing about the weights,” he added, tilting my face up to look at the toy once more as his long, slender fingers reached out to caress it. 

I didn’t respond.

Just watched as he stepped away from me once more, both hands plucking the toy from its magical grasp and running it lovingly through his fingers, eyes raising to meet mine with an absolutely sinful smirk. 

“The weights are _floating_.” 

He continued to look at me expectantly, but I was too busy staring at the string of beads that had seemed so innocuous moments ago. 

“Floating?” I repeated yet again, tearing my eyes from the toy to look at Draco. 

“Mmm,” he sighed again. “You do know what that means, don’t you?”

He paused just a beat, to allow his words to sink in, before continuing. 

“It means they’ll move with you… vibrate, really. 

“Every step, every move, every subtle shift you make this afternoon, and these little ones will give a little shake… a shiver, if you will, and that sweet little arse of yours will clench round them so nicely, don’t you think?” 

He smiled at me indulgently and I scowled back, because he was a right prick, you understand. 

“Which brings me to my next point.”

“Next?!” I yelped, shoving away from the wall and turning to face him indignantly. 

“Of course. You don’t have things specially made unless you’re going to… well… make them special,” he reasoned, the picture of innocence, from the wide eyes to the slightly surprise-slackened mouth, to the perfect tilt of his head, and I briefly wondered how many times he’d fooled his mother with this look before she’d realised her son was a cunning, conniving, devious little devil. 

“They’d asked me what size I wanted the balls,” Draco was saying, still as naturally as if he’d been discussing case research notes with fucking Hermione. 

“And, of course, my first instinct was to say large, because,” he shrugged and pulled an exaggerated “you-know-what-I-mean” sort of frown and gestured at me. 

“So you decided to go with small, _why_?” I demanded, glaring at him. 

“Not _small_ ,” he countered, still feigning innocence, because Draco had known exactly what the fuck he’d been doing when he’d decided on the size of those damned things. “I believe we went with… ‘just right’.” 

He held the toy by the top-most sphere and held it up for me to examine.

“Three centimetres in diameter,” he said softly, his smile finally belying the deliberation that had gone into this little scheme. 

“Thought it’d be just enough for you to feel, but keep you wanting more.” 

He reached out to run the smooth surface of the ball along my lower lip, urging me to suck it into my mouth, which I, of course, obliged. 

Fucking bastard was right, I thought, groaning in frustration as my lips wrapped around the ball, feeling the weight of it vibrating on my tongue, already knowing that Draco had selected perfectly; they were just large enough so I’d be constantly reminded they were there, even without the ingenious floating weights, but not large enough to satisfy, and Merlin, but I’d be an incoherent, gibbering wreck for Draco’s cock in no time. 

“And finally,” he continued, immediately sensing my indignation, blue-grey eyes narrowing as he removed the first ball and replaced it with a second, just daring me to complain or interrupt. 

“ _Finally_ ,” he repeated, watching me. “There’s the spacing of the three.” 

He removed the middle ball from my mouth and guided the third and final one in.

“I know how much you enjoy having things deep inside you,” Draco continued, delicately holding the first ball between his thumb and index finger as he pulled the string taut, the third ball still held firmly in my mouth, so I could see them stretched out before me.

“Again, we decided a measurement of ‘just right’ would be best. 

“Spaced so that this one,” he indicated the first, held in his hand, “would be deep enough so you’d know it was there… but… not _quite_ reaching where we both know you’d like for it to reach.” 

Draco plucked the last ball from my mouth and I blurted out:

“And-and you want me to put them inside me _now_?” 

“Oh! No, of course not,” Draco assured me immediately, shaking his head, and I almost breathed a sigh of relief.

Almost. 

“ _I_ want to put them inside you.” 

“Thanks for clarifying,” I drawled sarcastically. “But I was more concerned with the now part.” 

“Oh, well then, yes,” Draco replied, nodding this time. “Now.” 

“You… do realise we’re expected back at the Burrow to help finish up for Samhain?” 

Draco stared at me as though I’d grown a dragon snout.

“You… do realise that’s part of the fun?” 

“How long am I supposed to keep them up there?” I asked, adrenaline already rising as I imagined the afternoon, juggling the opposing emotions of lust and arousal with the thrill and embarrassment of being caught. 

Trying desperately not to squirm, or, _moan_ , or, Morgana forbid, fling Draco down on top of one of the tables and fuck my literal brains out in front of my entire extended family. 

“Honestly, Harry, do you even listen?” Draco demanded, pulling me into his arms and feigning exasperation. 

“When you can no longer see straight and you’re actually crying for my cock, then you can come find me.” 

I stared up at him.

“I’m going to fucking die,” I murmured. “Literally going to die from needing to be fucked proper.” 

Draco chuckled as he leant down and pulled me in for a kiss. 

“If it’s any consolation, pet, you won’t be the only one on edge this afternoon,” he assured me, and I couldn’t help the thrill of anticipation that shot through me when I thought of the thorough fucking I’d be receiving later today.


	39. Magic History for Muggles: Less Abridged

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More preparations for Samhain, where Micah learns a bit more about some of the key players in the second Wizarding War.
> 
> Thank you to Hannah_M for the comment, and thus, the line about how Draco calling Harry kitten is both sweet and sexy AF.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, definitely nerded out and found a Gringott's currency converter online, for those of you interested in knowing how many Galleons our boy Draco is handing out.
> 
> 1.5 million Galleons = roughly £5.6 million or $7.2 million 
> 
> 30,000 Galleons = roughly £113,000 or $145,000
> 
> For real, I'm so sorry these update took so long!  
> It's been a little crazy with the thought of going back to work and taking care of "real" business (seriously, why can't writing smut just be my job, lol).
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

_Saturday Morning_

_31 October 2009_

_Ginny’s POV_

“Hey,” Micah’s voice hummed in my ear suddenly as she plopped down beside me.

Victoire and I were making wreaths using some of the branches and flowers we’d gathered while Dominique insisted she was “helping,” although turning somersaults in the grass was a step in wreath-making that I had, apparently, been skipping all my life. 

“Hi,” I greeted, leaning over to kiss her cheek. “How are you doing? Enough crazy for you, yet?” 

How I’d lucked out to find a girl like Micah, I’ll never know. 

Not only was she bloody perfect, but she was adjusting to my family and the wizarding world like a fucking champ. 

“I have a feeling the crazy’s just getting started,” she laughed, leaning into me and watching the wreath weave itself under the charm I’d cast. 

“You know, it makes sense, now,” she mused, resting her chin on my shoulder. “That you sucked so much at making decorations and stuff back in Boston.” 

I threw my head back and laughed, remembering our first Christmas together, when I’d arrived at her parents’ home only to discover we were decorating.

Imagine, if you will, an already-clumsy twenty-six-year-old, trying to weave a garland of holly and ivy, or wrap a popcorn string around a Christmas tree, for the first time in her life using absolutely no magic. 

I’d been relieved, when Declan, Micah’s father, had gently plucked the mangled garland from my hands and insisted that he needed someone to help him drink a glass of eggnog and observe the decorations going up, making sure they looked okay from the sofa in the centre of the room. 

Declan had rescued me from countless other embarrassing attempts at decorating Muggle-style over the next few years, always glad that Micah had found someone who could “keep him company” while he enjoyed a drink and directed everyone jovially from the sofa. 

Growing up with six brothers, her family assumed, had made me absolute shit at arts and crafts, but had gifted me a liver of steel. 

“Erm,” Micah bit her lip and glanced towards the front garden, where she and Draco had been gathering decorations.

“I was wondering if maybe we should offer to help Fleur?” she asked hesitantly. “I was going to, then wasn’t sure if it’d be awkward because I’m not a witch….” 

I frowned.

“No, I’m sure she and Draco have it covered,” I replied, having no idea myself what sort of preparation would be necessary for this ceremony of theirs. 

“Draco’s not here,” Micah informed me, eyes twinkling mischievously. 

“And neither is Harry,” she added, and I groaned and rolled my eyes.

“Of _course_ they’re bloody not,” I giggled. 

You’d think Harry and Draco were two randy little fourteen-year-olds who’d just discovered orgasms, their Hogwarts-era penchant for constantly sneering, shoving, and taunting each other now manifesting itself by them constantly kissing, groping, and, well, taunting each other.

I’ll admit, I had been apprehensive when Harry had finally revealed his mystery man to me one weekend when I’d gone down to meet him in Edinburg for a match. 

_“Draco?” I’d repeated incredulously. “Draco_ Malfoy?!” 

“ _No, Gin,” he’d replied rolling his eyes. “The other Draco we went to school with.”_

_“And… this is the bloke you met on Grindr?” I’d asked. “The one you were gaga for at your birthday?”_

_He’d nodded, eyes sliding over to look at me just a tad sheepishly._

_“I_ _really_ _like him,” he’d admitted softly. “He’s… he’s very different from how he was at school.”_

_“I believe you,” I’d assured him, nodding._

_I’d already known that Ron and Hermione counted him amongst their pint-grabbing acquaintances, which spoke volumes to Malfoy’s attitude_ _adjustment_ _since leaving Hogwarts._

_Even more so than the large donations he made to various charities that the Prophet took great pleasure in plastering all over their front page._

_For example, the jaw-dropping 1.5 million-Galleon-contribution he’d made to The Phoenix Memorial Foundation, dedicated to setting up living funds and scholarship stipends for children who’d_ _been orphaned_ _during the war or whose parents_ _were left_ _otherwise incapacitated in St. Mungo’s; an equal sum had also_ _been donated_ _towards the re-building of Hogwarts._

 _Smaller, but still significant contributions (a meagre 30,000 Galleons, if you will),_ _were made_ _annually to S.P.E.W. and other organisations that promoted the welfare and equal treatment of all magical creatures._

 _Draco had also been most vocal against the use of the term ‘_ _Mudblood_ _’ and he and Pansy Fucking Parkinson, of all people, had been amongst the first pureblooded families_ _to openly discriminate_ _against those who still clung to their beliefs of pureblood purity, calling for justice for the victims of the uprisings against Muggle-borns_ _and half-bloods in the years just following Voldemort’s demise._

_I mean, you didn’t think all of his followers just slinked away quietly, did you?_

_I’d also learned, thanks to Neville, that the state-of-the-art broomsticks supplied to all four house Quidditch teams had_ _been donated_ _by Malfoy, ensuring that all players had excellent brooms and that no house had an unfair lead_ _due to_ _… ahem… biased donations._

_Still._

_I hadn’t seen Malfoy or really talked to him personally, and_ _certainly_ _hadn’t expected to have had any reason, ever, to see for myself how much he’d_ _actually_ _changed._

_“How the bloody hell did the two of you happen?” I’d asked, genuinely curious._

_Harry had sighed and run his hands through his hair, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees, watching the joggers lope past from our perch on the park bench as he’d launched into his story of meeting Malfoy after cruising Grindr._

_How the sex had been mind-blowing, so they’d kept meeting up and, eventually, developed feelings, and had then been in a weird in-between where Harry hadn’t been_ _quite_ _sure what their relationship status was, but knew they were exclusive and that Draco was blissfully affectionate and called him Kitten, of all things, which, to be entirely honest, had melted my cold little heart towards the blond bastard._

“Kitten?! _” I’d squealed,_ _quite_ _loudly, I’d realised as a couple walking by us turned, as though expecting Harry to be holding a tiny, cuddly furry bundle up to me._

 _“I’m sorry,” I gasped as Harry glared at me._ _“_ _But how is that both adorable and fucking_ hot _at the same time?_

“ _You know, it makes sense, really,” I’d reasoned, seeing as Harry wasn’t about to answer my previous question._

 _“I mean, now that I think about it, Malfoy really_ _does give_ _off that big dick energy,” I’d mused and Harry’s scowl had deepened almost comically._

_“What?” he’d sputtered. “You know that’s not what this conversation is about, right?”_

“ _It’s not?” I’d teased right back because there was something about a slightly aggravated Harry that was such fun._

 _“No!” he’d cried out, running a hand through his hair. “I just told you, I_ _really_ _like the bloke!”_

_“What do you know about big dick energy, anyway…” he’d grumbled, crossing his arms and leaning back on the park bench._

_“Just because I’m not_ _particularly_ _interested in them doesn’t mean I can’t sense it, silly,” I’d admonished him, reaching over to ruffle his hair affectionately._

_“Wow,” I’d exclaimed, pulling my hand back, then reaching back into Harry’s thick locks once more. “What the bloody hell have you been doing with your hair? It’s so soft and… luxurious!”_

_Harry had sniggered a bit, green eyes slanting down towards mine knowingly._

_“Honestly, Gin, you think Malfoy_ _’s going to_ _let me run around with that bloody 3-in-1 I used to use?”_

From that day on, I received nearly weekly calls from Harry, confiding in me about the, frankly, porn-worthy sex he and Malfoy had. 

Sometimes people thought it a bit odd that Harry and I shared such intimate details with each other about our current sex lives. 

Truthfully, it just made sense. 

We all need that one person, maybe two, to whom we can spill all the dastardly details of our lives, and, I suppose, after having spent years being affectionate, thinking we were in love, trying to make love, then realising we _did_ love each other, just in a very different way than we’d been trying to manifest, there was very little Harry and I couldn’t tell each other. 

And Merlin, the stories he told me. 

I’d almost had trouble believing them, at first.

Harry had seemed so shy and sweet during all of our fumblings, which I suppose made sense, given our age and unconfessed sexual preferences, but it was hard to compare the innocent, hesitant, almost too-gentle boy of my youth with the depraved, cock-thirsty, begging man he, by his own admission, became whilst kneeling before Draco Malfoy’s, apparently, perfect cock. 

At one point, when he’d been describing yet another one of Draco’s creative retaliations for distracting him from work, I’d burst out laughing, informing Harry that it must have been dually torturous for him, trying to fuck me, when, in reality, he’d just been dying to _be_ fucked. 

“We could ask Fleur if we can help,” I agreed, brain returning to the present and my conversation with Micah. 

“Even if there’s nothing we can do, she’ll appreciate the offer… it’s the thought that counts, right?” 

Just then, as if on cue, Fleur appeared, Dominique giving up on her dance routine and running towards her, chubby arms raised for a hug.

“Ginny, Micah,” she greeted us, swinging the little girl up into her arms. 

“We were just talking about you,” I informed her. “Micah and I were wondering if there was anything we could do to help you prepare for the ceremony, since Draco’s… occupied.” 

Fleur laughed and set Dominique down.

“No, thank you. I can prepare most of it on my own. I only need Draco’s help for the potion, and we’ll just hope he is back in time.” 

She paused and glanced at her daughters, Victoire, focused on her wreath, and Dominique, standing once more to show her somersault skills off to her mum. 

“However…”

“We’ll watch them,” I assured her with a grin. “Say no more.” 

A few minutes later, Victoire, Micah, and I were finishing up the wreaths and other decorations and Dominique was back to her somersaults. 

“Oy!” Charlie’s voice rang out across the clearing suddenly. “The tables are up if you want to bring the decorations over!” 

We headed over to the clearing, which now held a large tent on one side with three long tables set up beneath. 

A clearing for the bonfire stood off to the side with a smattering of chairs, blankets, and piles of cushions sprinkled around it for us to curl into and get comfortable as night fell. 

“Where’s Harry?” Ron asked, frowning at us as we approached. 

“He’s with Draco,” I replied smirking and Ron turned his glance over to Hermione, a dazed look on his face.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered in disbelief. “They never stop, do they?” 

Charlie laughed and held up his hand to catch something that looked like a t-shirt that came zooming from over the hilltop, presumably all the way from his camp in Romania. 

“I asked my co-worker this morning to see if we had any of these left from a demonstration we did a few years back,” he explained, shaking out the shirt and holding it up for us to see. 

“Thought it’d be a fun gift for Harry,” he added as we all laughed.

A frighteningly realistic rendition of a Hungarian Horntail snarled and raged in the centre of the off-white coloured t-shirt, with a young wizard appearing and lifting his hand to gently pat the dragon’s flank, thus subduing the dragon who curled up and went to sleep beside the boy, a little tendril of smoke curling up out of its nostril. 

“Official Dragon Tamer” bold, black lettering proclaimed beneath the scene. 

“I don’t know, Charlie,” Hermione chuckled. “That, honestly, might be more of a present for Draco… I have a feeling he’s going to be thrilled!” 

“Well, hopefully, both boys will have a bit of a laugh,” Charlie reasoned, draping the shirt over the back of one chair as we congregated around the middle table. 

A quick glance around told me that Victoire and Dominique were busy making flowers float just a few metres away, and I turned my attention back to the table. 

This was the one we used for remembering the deceased, and usually the one we decorated first; it was a large, round table, with chairs for ten. 

A long, rectangular table, each set for twelve, was set up on either side of it; these were for the living. 

“Draco mentioned the war,” Micah informed me quietly as we began setting out the black placemats and flatware at each chair. 

“He said he was on the wrong side.” 

“He was,” Ron replied, overhearing us despite Micah’s hushed tone, and I glared at him.

“What?” he asked. “It’s true. People died because of him.” 

Micah looked taken-aback, apparently unaware as to how deep Draco’s involvement had been on the wrong side. 

Charlie cleared his throat awkwardly and Hermione smacked her husband’s arm. 

“Oh, honestly, Ron,” she scolded. “That wasn’t fair.” 

She looked over at Micah apologetically before turning her attention back to Ron, who was already grimacing as though expecting the lecture he was about to receive.

Because Hermione definitely had her “lecture” glare on. 

“You know damned well how much Malfoy’s changed and worked hard to bring respect back to his name. 

“Don’t you _dare_ go channelling any of the old animosity we all harboured at Hogwarts.

“Malfoy is your friend now, _remember_? 

“ _And_ , your best mate’s boyfriend, I might add.” 

“You know that’s not how I meant it,” Ron defended himself, looking uncertainly between Hermione and Micah and myself. 

“And maybe I think it’s important that Micah understands how much he _has_ changed,” he added. “That was a lot of growing up and overcoming ego he had to do… and I rather admire him for it.” 

“True,” Charlie interjected, nodding. “I mean, it’d be nice if we all could’ve been raised in good, proper families who steered us in the right direction.

“I’d imagine turning against a family that carved a path as clear-cut as Malfoy’s did would’ve been pretty difficult.”

Hermione giggled then, breaking the tension, and we all turned to her to see what was so funny.

“I’d love to see the look on Lucius Malfoy’s face if he had heard you refer to your family as ‘good and proper’ over his own,” Hermione managed between giggles, and I had to admit, that was a damn funny picture.

“Would the old man was still alive and I could tell him so right to his face,” Charlie replied. 

“Why did Draco say he has no soul?” Micah piped up suddenly. 

Naturally, we all looked to Hermione to explain things. 

“Well…” she said slowly, understanding that she was our designated explainer.

“Draco’s father was sentenced to death at Azkaban, the wizard prison, for his involvement during the war. 

“Azkaban was guarded by… these creatures called Dementors, who feed off of your happiness, and… when a wizard is sentenced… _was_ sentenced to death until just very recently, you received what was called the Dementor’s Kiss, where a Dementor would…” she paused here and licked her lips nervously as she met Micah’s apprehensive gaze.

“Would suck your soul from your body,” she finished, finally.

And even though I loathed Lucius Malfoy more than I could even put into words, I have to admit, hearing his fate spelt out like that sent a shudder down my spine. 

“Holy shit,” Micah whispered, eyes wide with fear. “I am never fucking up in your world. Just so we’re clear on that.” 

“You’d have to do something pretty spectacular to receive the Dementor’s Kiss,” Charlie assured her. 

“I mean, Lucius wasn’t just a follower. He _housed_ the Dark Lord. Kept him nice and comfy in his home, nursed him back to health, so to speak.

“He knew that he was back and rising to power once again and said nothing… pretty devious stuff.” 

There was an awkward pause as we continued setting the table, and I reached into the box to pull out the framed photographs of the dead that would be placed at each setting on the table. 

“Well, thank you,” Micah said quietly. “I’d been wondering… and Draco said I’d need to know more about this war to… erm… to understand your world?

“What do you know about the war?” Hermione asked, eyes narrowing suddenly.

“Practically nothing,” Micah answered truthfully. 

“I-I haven’t said much about it,” I admitted. “I mean, I just… I didn’t know where to start or how to bring it up.” 

“Understandable,” Charlie assured me, wrapping one arm around my shoulders and drawing me close. 

“You have to admit, it’d have been a bit much… 

‘Hey, honey, I’m a witch! By the way… there was this maniac, ‘bout twelve years ago now, who hated Muggles and wanted to destroy them, but me and my family and friends, we fought him, and loads of people died, and, oh, yeah, my ex-husband was the one who defeated the smarmy bastard, because his soul was actually linked with the Dark Lord’s, and so one of them clearly had to go, and Harry figured it might as well be the bad guy, so… cheerio! Have a nice day processing that and all….” 

We all giggled a bit at that, and I thanked Merlin that George wasn’t my only funny brother capable of lightening just about any mood.

“Wait… Harry?” Micah asked, the whole of Charlie’s story sinking in as she leaned in towards Charlie as though asking him to continue. 

“ _Harry_ defeated the rotten guy? Are you for fucking real?” 

“What?” Ron asked in mock surprise. “You had no idea you were sitting across from the most powerful wizard in the world at breakfast this morning?

“I mean, our Harry was the absolute epitome of might and power, wouldn’t you say?” 

I actually burst out laughing, remembering Harry slumping tiredly into the kitchen and all but face-planting himself into Draco’s chest. 

“I think it’s hard to explain just how powerful a wizard Harry is, though,” Hermione mused.

“Voldemort tried to Avada Kedavra him twice and failed. 

“No one has ever survived that spell, and Harry went through it _twice_ ,” Charlie interjected, looking as though the explanation was obvious.

“Abra-cadabra?” Micah repeated, frowning.

“ _Gods_ , no,” I groaned. “I cringe every time I hear a Muggle say that… of all the spells they could have picked up to keep in their stupid fairy tales, they pick _that_ one!”

Charlie and Ron looked confused, but Hermione was nodding sagely. 

“Honestly, it makes sense,” she reasoned.

“Avada Kedavra is the killing curse. It kills you instantly. Just… poof, and you’re gone,” she explained to Micah quickly, then returned to her musings. 

“I mean, a lot of Muggle lore has a decidedly dark history once you look into it.

“For example, Ring-Around-the-Rosie… it’s a nursery rhyme we’re all taught and play to, only to realise it was a warning about the Bubonic Plague.” 

“I could see Muggle parents warning their kids about this curse and making it a sort of game so that if they hear it they’d know to get out of there, quick,” Micah added.

I rolled my eyes.

“No offence, hon, but once Avada Kedavra’s cast at you, you don’t have time to get out of there quick.

“So… Harry just obliterated this guy?” Micah asked, shaking her head.

“That’s just crazy… I mean… I don’t mean this in any sort of way, but… he was just a kid, wasn’t he?” 

“Seventeen,” Charlie agreed, nodding. “Everyone thought one or the other would end up splintering into a billion pieces, all dramatic, like.

“But, in the end, Harry ended Voldemort simply. Made him die just like a human because that’s what he feared the most….” 

Charlie shook his head in wonder. 

“Because Voldemort was half Muggle, you know? And he ran from that part of him because he hated it so much… I almost laughed when Harry told me he’d insisted on taking him out and die a true Muggle death,” Ron explained to Micah. 

“If he had to die, I’m sure Voldie would have loved the idea of shattering into a million pieces or exploding into flames, or some other spectacular, non-boring death, but…” 

Micah was actually giggling.

“If I didn’t know what a shitbag this Voldemort was, I might feel bad,” she admitted. 

“And Holy shit, I had no idea Harry was wicked powerful like that. I mean, he really doesn’t act like it.”

“You can usually feel his power. I mean, we can… I’m not sure about Muggles. It’s like… like…” I fumbled for the correct words.

“It’s like electricity,” Hermione supplied. “Like a surge, or how the air crackles before a storm.” 

“I felt that, sort of, I think,” Micah mused. “You know, when they were duelling.”

“What are you all up to?” a voice called suddenly, and we turned to see Harry ambling towards us from the house.

“Molly said you were decorating, but it looks like you lot are all standing around doing a whole lot of nothing, to me,” he teased, coming to join us in the circle. 

“We were talking about you, actually,” I replied. “Telling Micah how you’re the most powerful wizard there is.” 

Harry, in true Harry fashion, merely looked annoyed and shook his head.

“That… that’s not even really a thing,” he protested. “It’s just something silly that everyone says.” 

“Right,” Ron returned immediately, grinning and clapping Harry on the shoulders.

“ _Everyone_ says. ‘Cause _everyone_ knows you’re the most powerful.”

“Oh, right, sure,” Harry pretended to acquiesce. “How would you even prove something like that, anyway. Most powerful….”

I snorted. 

Nevermind the entire Voldemort thing, I guess. 

“They have a pageant for that, don’t they?” Charlie asked, pretending to be deep in thought. “I swear we go watch every year, and Harry just _smashes_ it out of the Quidditch pitch during the swimsuit competition

“He’s got that strut and wave down pat,” he finished, nodding seriously at Micah. 

“No,” Harry played right along, chuckling and leaning into Charlie. “ _Surely_ , it’s my interview with the judges that gets them every time, no?”

“Interview with the judges?” Hermione echoed, laughing. “What sort of questions do they ask you, you know, to determine if you’re the world’s most powerful wizard?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Harry returned shrugging. “I don’t even pay attention. I just smile and say ‘World Peace’.” 

Harry flashed a dazzling smile and tilted his head to the side, raising his hand to give a pert little wave just next to his cheek, and launching into an exaggerated model strut, although he gave up after just a few steps, wincing slightly as he heaved a sigh and ran a hand through his hair again. 

“Is that why you don’t need your wand,” Micah blurted, as though a light bulb had gone off in her head. “Being powerful, I mean? Not… erm… the pageant.”

Harry shrugged, still refusing to admit the facts.

“Harry, luv, do you even know where your wand _is?”_ I demanded, realising I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d seen him wield one. 

Harry shrugged again.

“As far as I’m concerned, _my_ wand broke twelve years ago… now I just borrow Draco’s from time to time. 

“It’s hawthorn like mine was, and I _did_ own it for nearly half a year….” 

Harry frowned again as he looked at the tables and then at the box of photographs before him. 

“It never gets any easier, does it?” he asked softly, picking up a frame and placing it gently at the setting in front of him. 

Fred. 

Of course, his would be the first that we’d take out, I thought, wiping at my eyes, noticing that the others were either doing the same or doing that blinking-too-fast thing people do cause they don’t want to admit they’re crying. 

Micah, obviously, didn’t need to ask who the photo was of, or why we were crying suddenly. 

“So… that’s… erm… George’s?” she whispered quietly, arms wrapping around me and holding me tightly as I nodded, all of us gazing down at Fred, who was doing a goofy dance in his photo, managing to make us laugh through our tears even in death. 

“Mmm-hmm,” Ron managed. “Fred.” 

Charlie pulled another photo from the box and set a photo of Pandora Lovegood, cradling a baby Luna and dancing around the open space in front of their rook-shaped home, at the next place setting. 

“You haven’t met Luna yet,” he told Micah. “But this was her mother, Pandora and they live right nearby.

“Luna’s father is out hunting with ours right now, so you’ll meet both of them later tonight.”

“She also died in the war?”

“No, I honestly don’t know how she died…” I admitted, looking around at the group to see if anyone had any input, my eyes landing on Harry, who was holding another frame.

I didn’t even have to look to know that the frame held the familiar photograph of Lily and James twirling amidst the falling leaves just weeks before their murder.

“My mum and dad,” he said quietly, smiling sadly at the photo as he placed it gently between the next two place settings, turning a grateful smile up at Ron, who had sidled up alongside Harry to give him a hug. 

I pulled out the next frame and scowled.

“You don’t like this fellow?” Micah surmised, watching my face.

“That’s Snape,” I replied. “No one did.” 

“And, as it turns out, he was a wonderful man,” Harry cut in. “Really.” 

“And also the best double-agent you could imagine,” Charlie added. 

“Spent all my adolescence thinking I hated him,” Ron sighed, shaking his head. “Thinking he hated me, that he hated all of us…” 

“Ron, he _did_ hate us,” Harry reminded him, quirking a brow up at Ron, causing us all to chuckle again.

“We were all sure he was one of Voldemort’s strongest supporters,” Harry was explaining. 

“Turns out, he was always on our side, but could conceal his mind and manipulate the minds of others so well, no one on Voldemort’s side ever questioned him… actually…”

Harry broke off and frowned, then looked up at all of us, green eyes wide as though he’d just made a rather obvious realisation. 

“Draco,” he said suddenly, looking down at the photo of Snape again and frowning.

“He was Draco’s godfather,” he reminded us, looking up again. “I wonder if he might have helped plant a few seeds of reason in Draco’s head when he was a boy, is all….” 

And I had to admit, it was an excellent theory. 

“It wouldn’t surprise me,” Micah replied. “I mean, I know I’ve learned a lot from the non-parentals in my life… even if I didn’t figure it out till later.” 

Ron reached over to pick up the next frame, and he teared up again. 

“Lupin and Tonks,” he said, holding the picture so we all could see the smiling couple, Tonks changing her hair colour and nose, as per usual. 

“Those are Teddy’s parents,” I explained to Micah, and she looked back at the photo with renewed interest, having met Teddy several times already. 

“Tonks was related to Draco. Cousins, actually,” Hermione piped up. “His mum and Tonks’ mum are sisters. 

“Yeah, and it was the third sister who killed Tonks,” Ron interjected, rolling his eyes. 

“And mum thinks _our_ sibling rows are bad.” 

“She… she killed her _niece_?” Micah asked, disbelieving.

“Bellatrix enjoyed killing,” Harry muttered as a response. “And torturing.

“And if you want further proof, just ask Draco why he’s still terrified to get a pet.” 

We all stared at Harry, probably too afraid to ask him to elaborate.

“Bloody hell, mate, what do you mean?” Ron asked finally.

“When he was a kid, he had a few pets… puppies, kittens, bunnies But if he couldn’t keep them under control,” Harry paused to roll his eyes. 

“Whatever the fuck _that_ meant to a lunatic like Bellatrix,” he muttered. “Anyway, if Draco couldn’t _master_ them, so to speak, she… took care of them. 

“I found out because this family was handing out free puppies in the park one afternoon and I was all set to take one and Draco literally had a panic attack,” he added, answering our unasked question. 

“Who’s next?” he asked, sighing and running a hand through his hair again, clearly bent on getting us back on task. 

I almost went over to hug poor Harry. 

He was always a bit of a wreck around Samhain, but he seemed particularly on edge and fragile today. 

“It’s Sirius,” Hermione pulled yet another frame out and set the photo of the roguish-looking man grinning at us between the place settings for Lupin and James. 

“He and Lupin were best mates with James, Harry’s father, and vowed to look after him after James was murdered,” she explained to Micah. 

“And they both died doing just that,” Harry muttered, plunking himself down in the chair in front of Sirius’ photo, eyes flickering from Lupin, to Sirius, and his father. 

“My parents, too,” he continued, voice rising. “Hell, half the bloody people here died because of me.” 

The frames all jumped and fell over with a clatter as Harry waved a hand absently, sending a wave of magic at the table I’m positive even Micah felt. 

“That’s not true, Harry,” Hermione countered immediately, moving to right the overturned frames.

“Pretty sure they all died because of Voldemort,” Charlie cut in smoothly, sitting down in the chair beside Harry, the rest of us following suit. 

Samhain was difficult for all of us, but Harry in particular, for obvious reasons. 

“I mean, you didn’t want anything to do with any of it. 

“Voldie was the one with the obsession who kept going after _you_. We all just wanted the nutter dead, same as anyone.” 

Harry snorted and made a noise of disbelief, but then grinned and looked a little more cheerful.

“Thanks,” he said, leaning on one elbow and raking a hand through his hair. 

“Sorry,” he added. “I’m just… just a bit on edge is all….” 

“How can you possibly be on edge and cranky now, Harry?” Ron teased, righting a few more frames as he grinned at Harry. 

“Don’t try and hide it. We all know you ran off with that handsome boyfriend of yours earlier. Are telling us he’s not taking his job seriously? Should we have a word with him?” 

Harry threw his head back and laughed.

“Would you?” he asked, righting himself and pouting while scratching absently at the back of his head. 

“He’s been an absolute devil today.” 

He huffed another sigh, and I had to wonder if maybe Micah had misjudged Harry and Draco’s reasons for disappearing earlier.

Harry certainly didn’t seem like someone who’d just satisfied himself with a naughty tryst, anyway. 

“Where is Draco?” Hermione asked, changing the subject slightly, grinning as her eyes landed on the t-shirt draped over the chair.

“Charlie got him… well, the both of you a little present, that I think you’ll enjoy quite a lot!”

Harry shot Charlie a positively terrified look and Charlie burst out laughing. 

“Nothing like that, mate,” he assured Harry, reaching for the shirt.

“I was going to say, I’m pretty sure Draco was joking about you joining in. I’ll have you know he doesn’t share,” Harry quipped, looking at the shirt crumpled in Charlie’s hand with interest.

Charlie unfurled the shirt with a giant, expectant grin on his face, and Harry let out a burst of laughter as the child came out and tamed the dragon.

“Fuck me, that’s perfect,” he declared, still chuckling as the wizard disappeared and the dragon flared up once more.

“Well, put it on, then,” Charlie urged. “You can show it off to your dragon when we go grab lunch… which, hopefully, is right about now.” 

Harry quickly pulled the t-shirt on over his thermal sweater, then tugged at the hem to hold it out as he studied it once more. 

“Thanks,” he said, glancing up towards the house as two brilliant blond heads appeared on the porch. 

Draco and Fleur were beckoning us towards the house, Charlie’s stomach clock apparently right on schedule.

“Is Draco part Veela, too, you think?” Ron asked, squinting at the slivery brightness of both his and Fleur’s hair.

“Don’t ask him,” Harry ordered as we all stood to leave. “He doesn’t need to get any more silly ideas in that stupid head of his.” 


	40. Not All Ghosts Are Dead: Part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I really don't know what else to say about this chapter, except... more preparations and a "friendly" Quidditch match?

_Saturday Afternoon_

_31 October 2009_

_Draco’s POV_

Fleur and I had just finished preparations for the Sacre du Voile ceremony, the potion happily bubbling away on the stove despite the appearance of, and offers of help from, Victoire and Dominique, who had appeared midway through our preparations, claiming that the adults outside were talking about “stuff that makes you cry.” 

I assumed this had meant they were setting up the table of remembrance and looking over photographs of all their fallen comrades, and, despite how well I was getting along with everyone, I was suddenly glad not to be out there right now. 

Sure, the photos would all still be there later tonight, and, if the veil really was as thin as Fleur was predicting, some ghosts as well, but I thought for the group to set up the photos and have some time without, well, _me_ ,there was a good idea. 

“Fleur, Draco,” Molly called from the kitchen. “Be a dear and go fetch the others for lunch, will you?” 

Fleur and I ambled outside and looked over at the tent and tables set up in the clearing.

Harry, Ron, Hermione, Charlie, Ginny, and Micah were all sitting at the table, laughing at something Harry had just said or did, and I couldn’t help but smirk as I imagined Harry navigating conversation and appearing normal before his mates with his new toy nestled up his arse. 

The group rose and made their way over to us, seeing Fleur raising her hand in greeting, still talking and laughing as we descended the stairs to greet them.

I was about to fold Harry into my arms and ask him quietly how he was doing when I noticed his t-shirt. 

I hadn’t even realised that my jaw had dropped and the rest of my face had morphed into a ridiculously pleased, gigantic expression of delight until everyone burst out laughing and Hermione said:

“See, Charlie, told you it was more a present for Draco.” 

“My birthday’s not until June, but you’re welcome to give him a second for the occasion,” I assured Charlie, staring in absolute child-like glee at the scene looping across Harry’s chest. 

“And I hope you understand, Potter, that you are definitely wearing this when we officially come out to the public,” I added, tugging Harry into my arms at last and grinning into his hair, eyes sparkling with laughter at the Weasley clan surrounding us. 

“Oh? And what will yours say?” Harry countered, pushing back and grinning up at me from arm’s length. “Property of Harry Potter, keep off?”

I thought for a minute, then grinned back.

“Hogwarts motto, then ‘nisi forte electus ex milibus’ scrawled beneath.”

Hermione rolled her eyes at me as we were met with mostly blank stares.

“Honestly, did none of you pay attention in Latin?” 

“I’m sure Bill did,” Charlie piped up. “Comes in useful for his job, and all.” 

“Never tickle a sleeping dragon, unless you’re the one chosen from amongst thousands,” Hermione translated, and Harry faltered for a second as his eyes met mine. 

“Did you really just make the bloody school motto romantic?” he demanded, tucking his head into the crook of my shoulder and snuggling in, inhaling the scent of my cologne as he always did. 

As the rest of the group made their way inside, I wrapped my arms around Harry to pull him closer, bending my head to bury my nose in his thick locks, one hand travelling up his back to tangle into the curls at the back of his head as I tilted his head up to capture his lips with my own. 

I’d only meant for it to be a brief kiss, but the combination of both our pent up sexual frustrations quickly overpowered any notion of self-control and soon Harry was whimpering pitifully into my mouth as I all but ravaged him.

“Afternoon, luvs, do the two of you need to be excused to the tent?” George called out cheerfully, he and Bill stomping up the steps, dirty and sweaty from their morning spent seeking out the proper firewood for tonight’s fires. 

“No,” Harry sighed, hand pushing reluctantly at my chest as he disentangled himself. 

“I think we can wait a few more hours,” he added, raising a brow as though in challenge. 

“Easily,” I replied, giving him a light swat on the arse as he turned to enter the Burrow. 

Just a gentle, little love pat, mind you, but Harry spun around, eyes blazing so hard even Bill and George hesitated for a second. 

“Easy, kitten,” I murmured, pressing a kiss just above his ear. 

“You seem to be just a tad on edge today,” I added as I slid past him and inside to join the others for lunch, turning my head to give him a parting smirk. 

There was no fucking way in Hades I was going to cave before Harry did. 

Because, if I was being entirely honest, I had seriously misjudged how the memory of prepping Harry and gently sliding those three little balls into his tight, fucking _perfect,_ arse would conspire with my over-active imagination to make for a very uncomfortable morning preparing… _trying_ to prepare for a very serious ceremony. 

At one point, Fleur had even glanced over at me, brows raised and asked if I needed to go lie down, thinking I was hungover like everyone else in the house.

I’d almost taken her up on her offer, too, reasoning that a quick wank would be well-deserved. 

My attention snapped back to the present, and Harry, as he slid into the seat across from me, rolling his head and circling his shoulders, a tiny groan of pleasure escaping as he relaxed in his chair, green eyes sliding open to make sure I was watching.

Wanker, I thought as Harry smirked knowingly across the table. 

“Here we are, eat up, eat up,” Molly encouraged us all as two giant platters of pasties down before us. 

“We’ve got Cornish or chicken and mushroom,” she added, indicating each tray with a nod of her head, and hands went grabbing immediately. 

“Thanks, Molly,” Harry grinned up at her, then back at me as his fingers “accidentally” brushed along the tops of mine as we each grabbed for a Cornish pasty. 

“I’m starving,” he added, eyes locked on mine as his foot began to gently trace up and down my calf, letting me know that he was, in no way, referring to the food. 

I somehow managed to continue nibbling at my pasty and forced myself to pay attention to the rest of the table, where conversation currently centred around Arthur, Amos, and Xenophilius, who had informed Molly that they had brought the game they’d caught to the Diggory’s home, his wife, Elizabeth, insisting that she help prepare for the feast tonight.

“So,” Molly was saying brightly, “That means I’ve only got to bake the barmbrack cakes and then I might have a minute to relax before nightfall!” 

I was managing okay, biting into a second pasty, this time chicken-mushroom, and complimenting Molly on another wonderful meal, when Harry’s foot suddenly jumped from where it had been lazily caressing my calf to trail a bit more firmly along my thigh, not quite high enough to reach my cock, which was starting to strain against my trousers, but enough to tease and taunt.

Honestly, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to remain sat as I was and enjoy the anticipation a bit longer, or if I ought to maybe slouch a little and spread my legs a bit wider to help steer Harry’s foot to where I fucking wanted it as my mind returned to earlier this morning.  
  


 _“I’m going to fucking die,” Harry had groaned softly. “Literally going to die from needing to_ _be fucked_ _proper.”_

_I’d leant down, pulling Harry towards me, honestly considering forgetting about the stupid Ben Wa balls and taking him back to the bedroom and ploughing him straight through the mattress._

_“If it’s any consolation, pet, you won’t be the only one on edge this afternoon,” I’d admitted, a warning voice in the back of my mind telling me this wasn’t really information I should’ve been sharing with him._

_I’d turned Harry to face the wall again as I’d slowly sank to my knees once more, leaving a smattering of kisses along Harry’s back, the kisses becoming sloppier and more urgent the lower I’d travelled until I’d parted his cheeks, sighing with longing at the sight of Harry’s dusky rose-coloured pucker before me._

_I hadn’t even tried to hold back the moan as I’d leant forward, tongue tracing a delicate trail up the centre of Harry’s arse, teasing both Harry and myself, by veering off to place another open-mouthed kiss on his left arsecheek just before I’d reached his pulsing furl._

_Harry had whinged, back arcing and hips rolling towards my mouth in protest._

_“Shh,” I’d chided, giving him a light smack. “I’ve already told you to be patient.”_

_Harry had only groaned and shifted his weight a bit, still pushing his arse towards me hopefully, and I’d given in, leaning forward to swirl around Harry’s opening, giving another moan as I’d fastened my mouth to him, tongue lapping and furling around him._

_I’d remained there for a while, continuing to work Harry open until he’d given a needy little mewl and rolled his hips back, urging my tongue past the vise-like grip of the tight ring of muscle and into the satiny heat of him alternately clenching and yielding around my seeking tongue._

_“Draco, please,” he’d begged, one hand reaching down and back to tangle itself in my hair, perhaps to_ _try and_ _pull me closer before realising that I’d been buried as far up his arse as humanly possible_

 _I’d continued, lost in the taste and feel of Harry, relishing in his groans and pleas for ‘more’ and ‘yes’ and_ _‘_ _Draco,’ until I’d finally pulled reluctantly away, left hand reaching out to catch the phial of lube I’d summoned._

_It was one of my favourite homebrews, and one I didn’t use often because of the essence of Billywig… just a drop, mind… that heightened sensitivity so that each caress along your skin gave an almost electric spark that sent a delightful shiver down your spine and a delicious tingle that seemed to radiate throughout your entire body, straight from your toes, out the very tips of your fingers, and right out the top of your spinning, lust-blown head._

_I’d coated my fingers with a generous amount and slowly slid the middle one into Harry’s arse._

_“_ Fuck _, Draco,” he’d groaned, already knowing which lube I’d selected, judging by the shuddering intake of breath and the way his arse clenched deliciously around my finger on its way out._

 _I’d continued fucking Harry with just the one finger, his pleas and demands for more having only_ _served to see_ _how much longer I’d been able to hold out before adding a second, scissoring them to open Harry up._

_When my fingers had been plunging and twisting into him easily, I’d reached out for the string of beads and had coated the first one with a generous amount of the lube before circling it slowly around Harry’s slackened hole._

_“I’m fucking serious, Draco, stop fucking teasing before I grab the damned thing and shove it up my arse myself,” Harry had growled._

_Merlin._

_“Promise?” I’d asked, still circling slowly._

_Harry had groaned but still_ _managed to stretch_ _a hand down to reach between my fingers and press the ball gently into his arse and I swear to fucking Circe I’d nearly come on the spot as I watched his hole all but swallow the small sphere._

 _“Greedy little cunt,” I’d chided, reaching forward to lick around Harry’s hole again, knowing he’d be_ _particularly_ _sensitive due to the lube and having just stretched around the first ball._

_I’d watched, mesmerised, as the magic in the toy had drawn the ball further up into Harry’s body until the second one had been flush with his hole, Harry already writhing and gasping exquisitely._

_Holy Hecate, this was just as good as the store had promised._

_I had continued with the other two beads until the butt plug had finally_ _been firmly lodged_ _in Harry’s arse before rising, resting my hands on his hips as I’d leaned in to nuzzle that spot just behind his ear._

_“How are you feeling, kitten?”_

_I had fully understood what submitting Harry to this_ _sort of_ _torture entailed, especially at this_ _particular_ _holiday._

_“Good,” he’d sighed, content, his body curving back, seeking contact with mine. “So fucking good….”_

_I’d continued to run my hands over his body, trailing up his sides, reaching around to pluck at his nipples then gliding slowly down his abdomen before I’d taken my left hand and had delivered a smack, hitting his pert arse from just below its delicious curve into his thigh so_ _that_ _it had bounced delightfully; I had already raised my hand again, ready to deliver a second smack, eyes mesmerised_ _but_ _:_

 _“Oh! Fuck! Oh… no,_ fuck!” _Harry had cried out, his entire body flexing spectacularly before relaxing, just barely, as he’d leant all of his weight against the wall once more._

_“Harry?” I’d asked, genuinely worried. “Are you all right?”_

_He hadn’t answered for a second, and I’d lost myself in the vision of his arse clenching around his new toy, hoping it wouldn’t prove too much for him._

_“I’m bloody fantastic,” he’d sighed a moment later, and I hadn’t been able to deny myself another smack at his delectable arse and the way Harry’s entire body reacted to the vibrations the smack, apparently, set off in the Ben Wa balls._

_“Good,” I’d whispered in his ear. “Because I can’t wait to see what a needy little_ _slut_ _you’ll be after a few hours with these vibrating up your arse.”_

_“Oh,” he’d replied, turning to face me, cupping my face in his hand, mouth seeking mine. “I hope you can still handle what a needy little slut I’ll be after a few hours of these vibrating up my arse.”_   
  


“Draco. Oy, mate!” Ron’s voice and hand waving in my direction called my attention back to the table. 

“Hmm?” I asked, ignoring Harry’s smirk as his foot dropped from my lap and turned towards Ron, brows raised expectantly. 

“The potion for the ceremony,” Ron said, obviously repeating a question. “Fleur wants to know if she should go check it. 

“Honestly, you were a million miles away, what were you thinking about?” 

“Nothing,” I replied quickly, wiping my mouth and, again, ignoring Harry’s smirk.”

“And the potion’s fine,” I continued, turning my attention to Fleur, switching to French without even thinking about it. “I put a timer on it so the flame will turn off and it’ll keep until we need it.” 

“Damn, you speak French, too?” Micah asked, looking impressed. “And here I am wondering if I’ll ever be able to fake a British accent one of these days. 

“Well, if you’re going to try, you’ll want to listen to that one there,” Molly instructed, jabbing a finger in my direction. “He’s got the accent you’ll want.” 

“Really?” Micah asked, looking at all of us as though expecting us to burst out laughing at some inside joke. 

“Do you really sound different? I honestly can’t tell…” 

And I’ll admit that I frowned a bit, despite not having really given a shit about being upper class for years, then very nearly actually choked on laughter, fighting to swallow the sip of water I’d just taken. 

“You alright, Malfoy?” George asked, clapping me on the back, and I sputtered a bit more before laughing outright.

“Yes,” I assured them all. “Bloody fantastic, actually… sorry… I was just imagining the look on my father’s… or… anyone in my family’s face, really, if they’d have heard that.” 

I couldn’t help another snort of laughter escaping, and some of the others joined in. 

“Oh, Lucius would’ve been outraged,” Molly chuckled. “I can certainly vouch for that.” 

“What do you think, Malfoy?” George grinned over at me. “What would’ve upset him more, someone thinking you had the same accent as a Weasley or the fact that you’re buggering Harry Potter?” 

I paused, brows raised, mouth open as though ready to respond, as I pondered that for a second, the table erupting into another round of laughter. 

“I don’t know,” I replied finally, giving a bewildered shake of my head. “You’ve stumped me.” 

“Well, I think it’s safe to say you’ve turned out the _least_ like your father would have wanted as possible,” Bill laughed, giving me a genuine smile.

“If that’s not the best compliment someone’s ever paid me, I’m not sure what is.” 

It was a crystal-clear apology from the eldest of the Weasley bunch, and I gave Bill a grateful smile. 

“Well, dears, I hate to chase you all out,” Molly spoke up, the emptied platters floating off to the sink to be washed. “But I’m about to start the baking, and I have a feeling you’ll all want to take advantage of the last few hours of sunlight.”

“And we need to set up the bonfire,” Bill added. “If we all pitch in, we’ll even have time for a friendly game of Quidditch… all of us against Harry, what do you say?” 

“That hardly seems fair,” Harry grumbled. “And I’m sure Micah would rather we all did something where she could take part.”

I couldn’t help flashing a grin in Harry’s direction. 

So, Harry didn’t want to be sitting on a broom, did he?

“Oh, come now, Potter, you know you could take all of us,” I reasoned. “And I’m sure Micah would love to watch a friendly.” 

“Malfoy, your job’ll be to distract him,” Ron instructed. “Keep his attention off the Snitch.”

“I can do that,” I promised, eyes on Harry as I leaned back in my chair, brow raised in a silent challenge as Harry scowled back at me. 

“And don’t worry about me. I’d love to watch,” Micah assured Harry enthusiastically, and I could have almost kissed her. 

“I can watch with her,” Hermione added quickly, never having been one to love flying.

“Won’t we have to fly really low?” Harry tried once more. “You know, the neighbours?”

“Harry, those trees have all grown up. It’ll be fine!” George assured him with a laugh. “What’s with you, Harry? Sounds almost as though you don’t want to go flying!” 

Harry’s right hand shot up suddenly, and his broomstick came zooming into it a second later.

“Well, then,” he challenged, standing, his trademark “game face” in place. “Let’s go, shall we? Still a bit unfair, six-to-one, if you ask me, but I’ll give you my best shot.” 

“I’ll play on your side, Harry,” Charlie spoke up, smiling lazily as another broom came zooming into the kitchen into his outstretched hand. “That ought to even things up a bit.” 

“Oh, right,” George rolled his eyes. “The professional and the one who could’ve been a professional ganging up on us. _That’s_ fair.” 

“What do you say, Harry,” Charlie grinned at him as he also stood. “We’ll call ourselves The Dragon-Tamers.” 

A cheer went up as we all stood, eager to begin the match, and we were all headed for the door when Molly’s voice called us back to reality.

“Don’t forget the bonfire,” she reminded us, smiling good-naturedly as a few groans of protest went up and we filed out to stack the firewood as quickly as we could. 

***

It was less than an hour before we’d finished stacking the firewood, explaining to Micah the significance of the ash and blackthorn woods that Bill and George had spent the morning seeking out. 

Ash was considered to be the tree of life, promoting strength and harmony, as well as the ability to form a link between the human, magic, and spirit worlds. 

Many pureblood families still kept the tradition of planting an ash tree at the birth of each child for the strength and health of the baby; the grove behind Malfoy Manor was thick with them, a tree having been planted for every Malfoy born since the estate had been founded in 1066, and I had noticed the seven ash trees outlining the perimeter of the Burrow almost instantly when Harry and I had first Apparated there. 

Blackthorn was considered to be the Mother of the woods, directly associated with Samhain, and a truly contradictory monster, like the holiday itself, really. 

The sharp black thorns that gave the tree its name were said to represent hardships and negativity in our lives, those attacking from both from outside and from within; like the blackthorn, if left to grow and take root, the rancour would form an impenetrable tangle that could consume and take over any good parts of either the tree or the individual. 

Samhain, and its symbolic tree, asked for a brief pause and time for reflection.

To begin the year anew, taking steps to weed out the cancerous thorns in your life — a spiritual cleaning, if you will, to determine what was important in your life and the opportunity to strip away what was not.

To cancel spiritual debts, or real debts, I suppose, not that I’d ever had any of those, and contemplate the fleeting brevity of life on earth, hoping, with each passing Samhain, that when you finally stepped beyond the veil, you would be ready to greet those on the other side peacefully and leave behind only cherished memories. 

Of course, Christianity had come along and immediately demonised the tree, deeming its connection with death and communicating beyond the veil as coming straight from Lucifer himself.

Whose only crime, far as I could tell, had been arguing for the gift of choice and free will. 

I’d been immediately put off to the Muggle religion based on their stance against homosexuality alone when I’d first begun dabbling in the Muggle world.

However, the more I’d learnt about it, the more I was loath to feel any sympathies towards anyone who adhered so strongly to a religion that required unquestioning and unwavering obedience and instilled such an irrational fear for the natural cycles of life. 

It reminded me a little too strongly of the demands and fears of a certain megalomaniac who dominated my childhood, you realise. 

Give me the world of fae any day. 

“Well,” Charlie said, heaving the final piece of wood onto the bonfire. “That’s it. Let’s go play some Quidditch!” 

The other Weasleys grabbed their broomsticks from the broom shed and we began the short trek to the orchard.

“How are you?” I asked Harry, slinging an arm around his shoulder, pulling him closer and kissing him on the temple in greeting. 

“A tad on edge, thanks to an evil blond prat I’ve somehow let ferret his way into my life,” he replied snarkily and I couldn’t contain the howl of laughter that bubbled up in my throat at that.

“We could leave,” I reminded him, stopping and turning him to face me, our arms instinctually wrapping around each other.

“Right,” Harry muttered, a tiny grin on his face. “No one here would think that odd… me skipping out on an opportunity to play Quidditch or fly.” 

“Just tell them your dragon had to be tamed,” I suggested silkily, leaning down to brush his lips with my own, delighting in the way his eyes immediately slid shut and the way he leant forward, looking to deepen the kiss and chasing my lips with his own as I pulled away.

“Oy, don’t you two even _dare_ think about Apparating away right now!” Ron yelled suddenly, and Harry and I turned to find the entire group looking at us with a sort of bemused exasperation. 

“But you said to distract him,” I reminded him innocently, still not letting go of Harry, who was giggling with his head leaning on my shoulder. 

“That’s not what I meant!” Ron sputtered, smacking his forehead and staring at me in disbelief.

“Well, you’ll have to be more specific next time,” I told him, finally releasing Harry and walking to catch up with the group, grasping Harry’s hand in mine and tugging him along with me. 

“It’s in my bloody Slytherin-nature to be sneaky, you know.” 

Once we made it to the orchard and began to divide into teams, we decided to hand Ginny over to Harry and Charlie as well, seeing as it still would’ve been a pretty unfair match, five-to-two, even despite Harry and Charlie’s formidable combined talents.

“I’m the one who helped Harry figure out he wanted to work his way up to tame dragons, anyway,” Ginny explained grinning. 

“He’d still be just a shy little baby kitten, completely unaware of dragons if it hadn’t been for me. 

“I’m a Dragon-Tamer- _finder_.” 

With a laugh, we broke into our separate teams, Hermione, Micah, Fleur, and the children looking on. 

It was fairly easy for us to decide who was playing what position, given our histories at Hogwarts.

Ron was Keeper, George was Beater, and I was Seeker, naturally, leaving Bill as the designated Chaser, with George and I delegated as secondary Chasers between whacking Bludgers and keeping an eye out for the Snitch.

Oh. And distracting Harry, of course.

“No offence, team,” Ron said with a little grimace, looking over his shoulder at where Ginny, Harry, and Charlie were huddled. “But even with our slight number advantage, there’s no _way_ we’re going to take them out… Harry’s just too damned good. I mean… other _professionals_ have trouble getting the Snitch first.

“Draco, you’re our only hope,” he added, looking at me and I snorted.

“Right, ‘cause I was always so good at getting to the Snitch before him back at Hogw.” 

“No!” George interrupted. “You need to pull out every damned Slytherin-boyfriend tactic you can think of. 

“Flirt with him, tease him, bat those pretty blue eyes of yours at him, bloody hell, climb onto his broom and make out with him, we don’t care. Just _distract_ him.” 

“George, are you asking me to cheat and play dirty?” I asked in mock horror, hand reaching up to grasp at my throat in indignation. 

“No,” Bill answered, smirking. “He’s asking you to be the most infatuated, in-love boyfriend anyone has ever been, and to make sure Harry knows it.” 

“George,” Ron continued, turning to his other brother. “You’ve got to send a Bludger straight to Charlie. He’s going to play nasty, seeing as most of us on this team are his brothers and we all know how much he hates losing, especially to Bill.” 

“Already planned and ready,” George assured him, nodding emphatically. “And I’m saving one for Gin once the Snitch gets sighted. 

“You know Harry’s going to go help her, then Draco can stop being the doting boyfriend and catch it before Harry does.” 

“Merlin, are you sure you lot didn’t belong in Slytherin?” I asked, looking at them in awe.

“Nah, just siblings,” Bill explained. “Although, I suppose it’s kind of the same thing.” 

“Oy, you losers ready?” Charlie called, he, Harry, and Ginny already stood in the centre of the field. 

“Ready to beat your sorry arses,” Ron replied. 

“Victoire,” Bill called out, smiling affectionately at his oldest daughter. “Come, throw the Quaffle and get us started.” 

Victore leapt up, a giant smile and thrilled gleam in her eye as she ran over to where we all stood, the little trunk holding the Quidditch balls open between our two lines. 

Victoire picked up the Quaffle and looked excitedly at each of us in turn as we all straddled our brooms, ready for her signal. 

“I expect a clean match,” she told us, clearly parroting the referees she’d heard on the telly, and we all did our best to hide our good-natured grins as she finished looking each one of us in the eye. 

She made a shrill sort of raspberry sound, in lieu of an official Quidditch referee’s whistle, and tossed the red ball into the air, and we were off. 

Bill immediately gained control of the Quaffle, and I had to wonder if his choosing Victoire to begin the match had been more than just a proud father including his daughter. 

George, true to his word, had immediately smashed the Bludger at Charlie, who executed a perfect somersault midair and whacked it over to Bill, who was flying towards the makeshift goals with Harry on his tail.

Harry whacked another Bludger at Bill with such ferocity it left us with no doubt that he’d brought his A-game and was not easing up just because he was playing against a bunch of amateurs. 

Bill, thankfully, managed to dodge the Bludger again and scored, giving a whoop of excitement as he did a quick victory loop, sticking his tongue out at Charlie as he did so. 

Hermione or Fleur had conjured a makeshift scoreboard that dubbed us “The non-Dragon-Tamers” and showed our ten-point lead over “The Dragon-Tamers.”

Right. 

Apparently, we’d forgotten to name ourselves, I realised with a chuckle as I dived for the Quaffle, battling my dear Harry for the privilege. 

Of course, I sidled my broom right up alongside Harry’s, grinning over at him.

“Don’t even think about it, Malfoy,” he ground out. “You’re not going to distract me here, but you’re welcome to try.”

“I would never,” I promised and Harry rolled his eyes because, apparently he knew me, or something. 

“I was only going to tell you how damned sexy you are on a broom and ask that you stop trying to distract _me_ ,” I continued smoothly, allowing my eyes to trail over Harry’s body, which, honestly, did look fucking incredible stretched out and held taut over a broomstick. 

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed George heaving a Bludger at Ginny, who had the Quaffle and was making a beeline for the goalposts that Ron was defending, and I forced myself to keep my eyes trained on Harry.

Difficult, I know, but the things I would do for my team. 

Harry’s eyes narrowed and he glanced over at me incredulously. 

“What the fuck are you babbling about, Malfoy?” he demanded. “I’m not doing anything to distract you.” 

“If you say so,” I replied, executing a neat little half-turn of my own and taking off towards the other end of the field, having noticed that George had stolen the Quaffle from Ginny and was now zooming back towards the goalposts, Charlie already circling, eyes trained on George in anticipation. 

Charlie, unfortunately, blocked George’s attempt.

“Better stick to the Bludger where you belong,” Charlie crowed gleefully, zooming towards the other end of the field, Quaffle tucked neatly under his arm only to have his broom spin wildly out of control as George sent a Bludger smack into the back of Charlie’s broom. 

“What, you mean like that?” George was yelling, making a grab for the Quaffle, wrestling it out of Charlie’s grasp and lobbing it over to me.

Harry, of course, was on me immediately, gracefully dodging another Bludger hit by Bill to sidle up to me. 

“It dawned on me that I never thanked you properly for my new toy,” he began casually. 

Bastard. 

“Don’t worry, you will soon enough,” I assured him, succeeding, somehow, at ignoring the mental images of introducing Harry to his new toy and remaining focused on flying towards the goal, eyes scanning around me for a Bludger or Charlie or Ginny. 

“It’s just,” Harry was saying, flying along beside me as though we were taking a mere stroll through the park. 

“I know you had hoped they would keep me on edge all day,” he continued, eyes fluttering shut as he gave his lower lip a positively sinful swipe with his tongue. 

“And they have,” he sighed, somehow arching his back and leaning in to nuzzle at my ear while flying, because, of course, the natural laws of aerodynamics and gravity wouldn’t apply to Harry. 

“But what’s surprised me,” he continued, emerald eyes locked on mine. “Is how this being on edge and feeling those damned balls vibrating nearly constantly while sitting on a broomstick is actually _improving_ my game.”

No.

Mm-mm. 

Nope. 

Harry was not going to get away with this, I chanted to myself in my head, squeezing my eyes shut briefly, as though that might help shut out the onslaught of images he was currently sending through my brain. 

“I’m more focused, somehow” he added, then smirked over at me. 

“And, I suppose being on edge and a tad angry about it, I’m much more inclined to take advantage of certain situations and pull off dubious moves, like this one,” he finished, rolling his broom under mine, nearly knocking me off in the process, the Quaffle flying from where it had been lodged under my left arm as my brain kicked into survival mode and I righted myself, Harry snatching the Quaffle as it sailed through the air and flashing me a grin as he took off in the opposite direction.

“I’ll gladly pay for that later,” he called out, giving me a cheeky wink and zooming towards the other end of the clearing, rising up or dipping down to avoid the Bludger that George and Bill were sending at him nearly constantly, with such ease that I wondered if he might have figured out a spell to see out the back of his head.

He threw the ball to Ginny who caught the Quaffle and rounded on Ron who was circling our goalposts, anticipating her shot.

Ron gave a valiant effort but the red ball sailed through one of the hoops and the other team cheered as the scoreboard recorded their goal. 

The game continued in a similar manner, both teams putting in all their effort until the score tallied 50-40, with The Dragon-Tamers in the lead, Harry and I continuing to taunt and tease each other throughout the entire match.

Which, honestly, was no different from when we’d been at Hogwarts.

Just… a very different style of taunting and teasing, I suppose. 

“I was just thinking,” I mused as Harry and I circled far above the field, just below the treetops, eyes searching for that glint of gold, having been playing long enough that the Snitch would definitely be out and darting about any second now. 

“Careful, don’t hurt yourself, trying to think and fly at the same time,” he shot back

“How much I just love staring at that lovely, blushing pout of yours,” I continued, ignoring Harry’s jibe. 

“Imagining it wrapped and stretched wide around my cock… although it’s equally nice just remembering how it looks pursing around just the head as your eager little tongue laps at my slit so I know you’re relishing the taste of me…”

I allowed myself a glance in Harry’s direction as I continued to circle. 

Harry had completely stopped, eyes shut, lips pressed in a thin line, hands gripping the handle of his broomstick entirely too tightly.

“Of course, my favourite,” I continued with an evil smirk, eyes still on the lookout for the Snitch. 

“Is when I’m inside of you, and you’re clenched all around me, biting and pulling at that insufferable lip of yours and then I have to lean down and bite and suck at it myself, to see if it’s even half as delectable as it looks.”

I slanted my eyes over at Harry again, who was still sat completely still, gripping his broom, chest heaving. 

“But I’ve always wondered… which do you prefer?

“My cock buried down your eagerly swallowing throat, or just the head resting, heavy, on the tip of your tongue so you can slurp up and savour whatever droplets you can coax out with that sinful mouth of yours?

“Or is it when I’m buried deep inside of you, fucking you as thoroughly as I can, all but lost in the taste and feel and smell of you, and you realise that, despite being an utter whore for my cock, it’s you who owns me?” 

Harry’s eyes flew open, and he stared at me, mouth slackened, chest still heaving, eyes travelling over my body as though he might jump onto my broomstick and work out the first-ever broom-mounted fucking at twenty metres up. 

“Oy, Malfoy, we said _tease_ the poor man, not torture him,” Bill called out. 

“Draco struggles to see the difference, sometimes,” Harry ground out, eyes still latched onto me, and mine on him, my teasing having gone just a tad further and more intimate than I’d meant for it to. 

“I didn’t mean to,” I apologised softly, completely sincere, and Harry let out a ragged sigh and glanced over at me. 

“And I can’t say I mind, really,” he added with a wry smile. “But… I suppose we ought to finish this match and…” 

“Harry,” I frowned, suddenly, brain back in Quidditch mode. “Have you even caught a glimpse of the Snitch yet?”

“No,” he admitted, eyes also turning to seek out the golden glimmer. 

“That’s a bit strange, given this is a home set, isn’t it?” I asked. 

He frowned, eyes sliding back over to mine as Charlie scored another goal, thus evening the score. 

“It is,” he admitted, then swooped away, all schmoopy sentimentality and ragged nerves forgotten, for the time being, and I returned my attention to the game, realising we had to score at least one more goal to maintain our lead. 

I followed Harry’s lead and swooped back into the thick of the match, battling Ginny for the Quaffle, the two of us flying neck-to-neck, giddy with the exhilaration of it, when a whistle sounded and we stopped short. 

“Oy, come back, everybody down!” George was yelling, laughter clear in his voice. 

As we all made our way back to the centre of the pitch, the “fans” came in from the sidelines to greet us. 

“What’s going on?” Harry demanded, not even bothering to dismount, just gracefully tumbling off of his broom, magically catching it in his hand. 

“No one’s caught the damned Snitch yet,” he added, emerald eyes blazing furiously. 

“No,” Fleur agreed with a smile that bordered somewhere between rueful and amused. “Because it was never released.” 

She gestured to the trunk where the Snitch was struggling pitifully against its restraints.

“Victoire didn’t release it,” she added. “She thought the referee will release it when they want to.” 

“Why not?” Victoire demanded with that gloriously innocent and fervent child-like indignation. 

“I’m the referee. I’m in charge of the game. Why can’t I release the Snitch when I want?” 

“And you’re an incredible referee, Victoire,” Ron jumped in. “We wouldn’t have been able to play without you…” 

Ron paused and flicked his gaze up at Hermione, then leaned in towards Victoire, almost imperceptibly. 

“I mean, they’re here, but,” Ron whispered, jerking his head towards his wife, Fleur, & Micah. “But I don’t think they would have handled the match the way you did.” 

Victoire smiled up at Ron as though he had just crowned her Ms UK. 

“So did we just tie, then?” Harry demanded. “Really?”

“I think we can allow a tie for a friendly match,” George conceded. “Come on, I think we all did pretty well, considering.”

I would have thought Harry and his team would have put up more of a fight, but they, surprisingly, agreed, and I soon found myself with an armful of Harry.

“Draco,” he gasped, body pressing inappropriately close to mine as his hands threaded themselves through my hair. 

“Please,” he mumbled, mouth working in a frenzied sort of way, trying to kiss and talk at the same time. 

“ _Draco_ ” he sighed, in that way, that plea — the one that instantly wiped my mind blank, intent only on satisfying my Harry. 

“Take me home, now,” he pleaded, hands still threading through my hair and holding me close

“I- … I need you…. _please.”_

***

It was mere seconds before I was once more on my knees before Harry’s exquisite arse, Harry already groaning and rolling his hips back as my mouth already sought the delicious core of him. 

“Why…” he trailed off as my tongue swirled around his opening. 

“Why,” he tried again, hips still shoving back as I withdrew, running my hands up Harry’s back, then back down, shifting to trail down his sides, all the way down his thighs to calm him before spreading him wide open, one hand rising up to tug gently at the plug embedded up his arse until it fell free, continuing to pull gently until Harry’s arse resisted against the first of the three balls. 

I leant back in, slurping at his opening as he groaned and nearly bent in half over the bannister to allow me better access. 

“Draco,” he tried again as I drew back to take in the sight before me. “Why the fuck am I bent over the bannister looking over the Manor’s entry hall?” 

“Because,” I groaned, hands still running absently up his thighs and torso. “That’s where we are.” 

“I know,” he replied, hips shoving back despite the obvious doubt in his voice. “But… why?” 

“Because I’ve been fantasising about this ever since I told you about it on our picnic at the park,” I explained, still licking and swirling my tongue around his clutching entrance. “And Mum’s in France and the house-elves are all out doing… whatever it is they do on holiday… so the Manor’s empty.” 

“Well, I want you now,” Harry grumbled. “So stop teasing.” 

I sniggered.

As if that would stop me. 

I didn’t respond, just tugged gently on the cord, watching, mesmerised, as Harry’s pink pucker clenched, then slowly gave way, the black ball pushing out obscenely, and I couldn’t help but stop pulling with it halfway out, groaning and tracing around the stretched-out rim with the tip of my tongue, deciding to give the sensitive ring another delicate swirl at Harry’s moan. 

“Draco, fuck, _please_ ,” he begged, as my mouth latched onto the part of the sphere peeping out of Harry’s arse, sucking gently, tongue still swirling, easing it the rest of the way out, mouth gently nudging it to the side as I pushed my tongue tentatively into Harry, continuing to fuck him softly and sweetly before I released him with a sigh and swipe to my mouth, other hand raising up to tug on the string once more, urging the second ball downwards.

“Draco,” he whimpered. “Oh, _fuck_ , you fucking tease.”

“Harry,” I chided, swatting his arse, delighting in the way in gave a slight jiggle and at how Harry let out a high-pitched lusty sound of protest that made my cock twitch in anticipation. 

“You’ve no right calling me a tease,” I continued, leaning forward to swirl another obscene kiss into his opening. “You know damn well I always deliver what’s promised.” 

“Takes you long enough,” he countered grumpily, earning himself another smack before I gently tugged the second ball out.

“Oh, really, Harry,” I chided, still pulling the string until the third ball rested just inside of Harry’s arsehole. “Don’t pretend that you don’t love it.” 

I treated the third ball much as I had the first, pulling it gently so that Harry’s arse let it slide out rather reluctantly, tongue first tracing around his stretched out rim, then covering the half-sphere and his rim in an obscene kiss as I sucked it out, letting the toy fall to the ground as I gave in to kissing and fucking Harry’s arse with my mouth, encouraged by his cries and moans echoing off the cavernous stone walls of the entry hall. 

“Fuck, Harry,” I groaned, finally rising behind him and sliding my cock into him in one slow, gentle slide, my eyes nearly rolling back in my head as Harry’s tight heat all but engulfed me. 

“How many times do I have to tell you?” he spat out, hips pushing even further against mine.

“Yes, _fuck_ me… Merlin, Draco, surely that’s the point?” 

“Harry, love,” I sighed, mouth kissing and sucking at his neck, the sensitive dip behind his ear, the particularly sensitive row of bumps on the back of his neck. “Surely you know the point is to string you out until you’re utterly mad…” 

“I’m well there,” he growled, hips shoving back against me, and I couldn’t help but withdraw and snap back in like he was demanding. “So fuck me already.” 

I sank my length in and out of him, slowly, a few times, relishing in how he clung to me, trying desperately to keep me inside, and I had a sudden thought.

“What is it you’re always telling me?” I murmured, leaning down to nibble at his earlobe. “Whenever you’re sinking down on my cock like it’s your favourite thing in the entire world?” 

“It is,” he groaned, clenching and pulling off of me just a few centimetres before sinking back so that my bollocks were nestled right up against his arse. 

I withdrew those few centimetres immediately. 

“That’s it,” I crooned. “It’s these last few centimetres…”

I paused to slowly bottom out in Harry again, noting how his breath hitched and how his hands gripped the balustrade more tightly. 

“They’re so. Fucking. Good.” I accentuated each word with a thrust in and out of those said few centimetres and Harry was a whimpering, begging pile of goo. 

“Yes. Oh! _Fuck_. Draco. Oh, fuck. Yes, _please_ , gods, _please_ ,” he begged, and who was I to deny that?

I began fucking him in earnest, withdrawing then plunging in with my entire length and it wasn’t long before we were an obscene, incoherent mess, both moaning and crying out, the staccato of our hips meeting echoing off the walls, and it wouldn’t be long before we were both slumped over the damned railing, gasping for breath, floating down from that incomparable high of a well-earned orgasm, before turning into each other’s arms, giddy and still desperate to touch and caress as we stumbled off to my rooms, maybe for round two, or maybe for blissful sleep, round two being shoved off until morning. 

I was fucking into Harry now with nearly all of my might, and he continued to shove back into me, demanding more. 

A few strokes later, my orgasm came barrelling through me just as the front doors swung open and I heard a voice scold:

“Honestly, Draco, you’ve not just one, but an entire suite of rooms at your disposal, yet you insist on taking care of your guests in the main hall. Really. Where are your manners?” 

It was too late, and I buried my face in Harry’s neck, unsure what to make of the juxtaposing waves of ecstasy and humiliation as my hips continued to pump involuntarily into him as my orgasm ripped through me, Harry’s arse squeezing and pulsing deliciously around me, letting me know that he was in the exact predicament I was.

Mum had returned to the Manor.

And she wasn’t alone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know!  
> Argh, the cliffhanger! 
> 
> Also, thanks to EmmaGraceWinchester for the lovely idea to have Narcissa catch Draco having his way with Harry bent over the bannister overlooking the entry hall at the manor ;)


	41. Magic History for Muggles: The "Final" Lesson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Weasleys return to the Burrow following their friendly Quidditch match and continue setting up for Samhain as guests arrive.

_Saturday Afternoon_

_31 October 2009_

_Micah’s POV_

“Merlin, what do you suppose Malfoy said to Harry up there?” Ron asked, all of our attention riveted to the spot where Harry and Draco had been standing just seconds earlier, Harry having practically collapsed into Draco’s arms as soon as the game was declared over. 

“You probably don’t want to know,” Ginny replied with a laugh as we all turned and began walking back towards the Burrow. “Malfoy’s got quite the mouth on him.” 

“Oh yeah? How would you know?” George countered teasingly. 

“Harry tells me things,” Ginny confessed. “And, I know we absolutely told Harry to distract Malfoy, assuming you were going to do the same with Malfoy... and my guess is Malfoy won.” 

We came over the hill and the large tent came into view, the teetery Burrow looming in the background where Molly was finishing the setup with Arthur’s help, both of them swirling and swishing their wands to send garlands, wreaths, and tiny faery-lights to hang themselves artfully around the tent. 

“Hello everyone! Did you enjoy your game? Who won?” Molly asked as we gathered beneath the tent. 

“We tied,” George replied. 

“Well, I’d say a tie against the likes of Harry and Charlie is something to be proud of, anyway,” she reasoned, smiling affectionately at her second-eldest. 

“Yeah, we told Malfoy to distract Harry to even it out a little,” Ron explained and Molly gave him a look, then glanced around at our group with a little frown.

“Where is Harry?” she asked. “And Dr…”

“Draco _distracted_ him,” Bill smirked as he sauntered up to the round table holding all the photographs, pausing before the photo of his younger brother and smiling softly. 

“Do you really think they might come?” he asked, flicking his gaze over to Fleur, who nodded emphatically. 

“Absolutely,” she replied. “I cannot say who, so don’t get your hopes up about Fred, but I am sure someone will. 

“The veil is thinner than it has been in over thirty years, and with Draco here to help me with the ceremony, it is almost guaranteed.” 

“Damn, Draco’s, like, wicked powerful, isn’t he?” I murmured. “Is he, like, Harry-powerful?” 

“No,” Hermione spoke up almost immediately, shaking her head, although the looks of contemplation on some of the others’ faces made me doubt this. 

“I mean, yes, he is _very_ powerful. One of the most powerful in Britain, without a doubt, but…but… ugh, what am I trying to say…” Hermione squeezed her eyes shut and sort of bounced in place as she gathered her thoughts and I giggled a little. 

I loved how Hermione’s brain always seemed to be running at full speed and how she sometimes struggled to spit out all the information it was processing. 

“A family like the one Draco grew up in,” Hermione began again, more slowly this time. “I mean, the Malfoy’s are one of the oldest wizarding families in Britain.”

“If not _the_ oldest,” Arthur piped up. “His great-great-great-great, however-many-generations-back, grandfather came with William the Conqueror back in 1066. 

“They say the Norman invasion would never have succeeded without Armand Malfoy’s help.” 

“And a nice, big ol’ manor in Wiltshire, and a fancy title he got, for all his trouble, too,” Molly added, rolling her eyes. 

Ginny glanced over at me to make sure I was following, and I grinned.

“I’m following,” I assured everyone. “Granted, they don’t spend a ton of time teaching us about English history in the States, but I _do_ remember 1066.” 

There was was a brief smattering of laughter and George even applauded.

“That is far more than I could ever tell you about American history,” he informed me. 

“Some of the older families kept the traditions from the Old World, and so Draco, growing up in the family that he did, would know about some of those traditions and ceremonies that they stopped teaching at wizarding schools in Britain,” Hermione finished. 

“Not to mention he is a genius with the potions,” Fleur added, and even I had to nod in agreement to that, having witnessed and sampled some of Draco’s fine potion-work earlier today. 

“Hey, these pictures are new,” I exclaimed, picking up one of a handsome young man and an old, wizened looking wizard, who, to me, looked like all the depictions of wizards I’d seen in storybooks growing up. 

“I’ve seen this man before!” I cried out, turning to face everyone excitedly, holding the frame in my hands, glad, for once, to sort of know something before it was explained to me. 

“He’s Dumbledore! He was listed as one of the greatest wizards of all time in one of the books I was looking at when we first moved here. 

“ _Wow!_ You guys _knew_ him?” 

“Well, ‘course we did,” Ron replied with a grin. “He was Headmaster at Hogwarts while we were there.” 

“Wow,” I sighed again, trying to imagine what it would have been like to have someone like that as a school headmaster. 

"He was a quirky one. Super witty,” Bill added, smiling down at the picture as well. “I always loved that about him. 

“Sometimes I’ll remember something he said and crack up because I _finally_ get the joke.” 

“And who’s this last one?” I asked, moving my attention to the photo of the teenager smiling and waving shyly as he averted his eyes from the camera. 

“Cedric,” Ron replied. “He was… he was the first victim of Voldemort’s when he made his return… we were in our fourth year.

“There was a tournament, the Tri-Wizard Tournament… that’s where we all met Fleur," he added, shooting his sister-in-law a quick smile. 

“The schools,” Ron continued. “There were three of them, Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, from France, and Drumstrang … somewhere in Eastern Europe, but it’s unplottable so no one knows where it is.

“Anyway, Harry got entered into the tournament, even though it was only meant to be for students who were seventeen and older… he was only _fourteen_.

“At the last challenge, Harry and Cedric decided to grab the Tri-Wizard cup together, so they'd both win, 'cause they finished at the same time and they'd been helping each other out a bit, but the trophy was a Portkey, and they got taken away and then Voldemort had Cedric killed right on the spot. 

“He was a completely innocent victim. Just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time,” Ron finished, wiping his eyes. 

“He grew up right nearby,” Charlie said. “I remember him as a little kid who used to tag along after Bill and me.” 

“His father’s the one I went hunting with this morning,” Arthur added, turning as a couple appeared with a pop, laden with two giant platters of the game caught that morning, and I realised that they were Cedric's parents.

I also have to admit, I was pretty damn proud that I hadn’t jumped and knew that they had just Apparated. 

You know, like normal, for wizards. 

“Amos, Elizabeth!” Molly greeted them, holding her arms out for a hug, a quick swish of her wand sending their load over to the buffet table already carrying a huge platter of Soul Cake cookies, which looked, to me, a lot like thumbprint jam cookies, and a spiced cake, called Barmbrock, which I remember my own grandmother baking on Halloween.

While we had never understood quite the history behind it, I had always squealed in horror when I found the ring found baked inside of it, which signified marriage within a year. 

It was comforting to know there was something familiar for me in this world, even if our Muggle celebration of it had been a mere shadow of the wizard version. 

“We were just showing Micah, Ginny’s girlfriend, the Table of Remembrance,” Arthur was explaining, and the couple turned a curious, yet friendly, gaze on me. 

Introductions were made, the Diggory’s asking me about, and listening with enthusiasm, as I told them about my first few months living in the wizarding world. 

Their arrival was quickly followed by that of another neighbor, Sarah Fawcett, who brought a basketful of freshly-baked bread that smelled so fucking delicious, my stomach growled and I had to physically stop myself from grabbing a loaf and tearing into it as the basket zoomed past on its way to the buffet. 

Next to arrive were Andromeda and Teddy, bearing a steaming cauldron of squash stew, Teddy running up to me, changing his nose to look like a donkey’s and hee-hawing in glee at my peals of laughter. 

“Harry!” Molly exclaimed suddenly, and I turned to see Harry standing there in a fancy-looking brocade robe that matched his eyes perfectly, shivering slightly in the cold, seeing as he was barefoot, and clearly not wearing much, if anything, beneath said robe. 

“What are you doing here, in just that little robe? You’ll catch a cold!” 

Molly, in true “Molly” fashion, was rushing towards Harry, a thick blanket already flying into her hands and being draped around his shoulders. 

“I need to talk to you,” Harry said, eyes flashing urgently. “ _Now_.” 

He glanced over at the group, eyes landing on Arthur, who understood the tacit command that he, too, needed to hear whatever it was Harry had to say. 

“Well, I think that’s a clear indication we’re allowed to start pouring the wine,” Charlie declared as the trio headed back to the house, and cups full of wine and cider began zooming around, the rest of us cheering and wondering what Harry could be discussing with the Weasleys. 

It felt like only minutes had passed when Harry re-emerged with Arthur and Molly behind him, looking a bit shaken, but smiling... just a tad too enthusiastically. 

Uh-oh.

I knew that look. 

This was not good news.

“Well,” Molly said brightly. “It appears we’ll be having a few more guests joining us this evening.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had some comments and things I thought I wanted to comment on as I was writing this, but I forgot to take notes and now I can't remember a single one.
> 
> I'll update if that changes ;)


	42. Not All Ghosts Are Dead: Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We finally meet our unexpected guest. 
> 
> * in case it's not clear, this is taking place simultaneously with the previous chapter

_Saturday Afternoon_

_31 October 2009_

_Draco’s POV_

I stilled my hands gently on Harry’s hips as I cautiously lifted my head from between Harry’s shoulder blades, mind still reeling at the scene unfolding in my fucking entry hall, already preparing to whisk him away somewhere safe and alone, before returning to deal with this mess, but Harry, surprisingly, broke the silence first.

With a laugh.

A loud, almost reckless laugh that matched the mocking, gleeful stare his emerald eyes were slanting down at our unannounced visitors as Harry braced both his hands on the bannister and straightened, left hand shooting out to catch the two dressing gowns that came zooming from my rooms just down the hall.

Really, they were both mine, but Harry had all but claimed the emerald green one, my favourite back at Hogwarts, as his own. 

I pulled the other black one on, watching as Harry made his way towards the staircase on our left, shrugging his robe on and tying it as he sauntered down the stairs, looking, for all the world, as though _he_ were the Lord of this domain and welcoming visitors, not me.

I was still staring, gawping at the figures in the entry hall beside my mother.

“Narcissa,” Harry was saying, making his way around the curve of the staircase that descended and opened into the grand hall. 

“My sincerest apologies that _you_ had to see that… again,” he added with a slight grimace. 

"However," he continued, smirking over at our guests. "Given our present company, I have to say, I rather enjoyed myself..."

"Although that was probably obvious," he added, leering in their direction and Mum couldn’t help but smile affectionately at Harry. 

“Yes,” she replied, arching one brow. “Is it too much to ask that I not be treated to a third round?”

Harry grimaced again, then grinned up at me.

“You might want to have a word with your son about that,” he replied. “He seems rather unclear as to proper locations for such activities.” 

Oh, sure, Potter.

Blame it all on me.

I mean, he _could 've_ insisted we move to the bedroom or something.

Mum smirked in response, eyes lifting to where I had finally managed to tear myself away from the bannister and was now making my way down the identical staircase opposite the one Harry had used that curled its way around the room, eyes still focused on the cluster gathered below.

“What the actual fuck,” I shouted, manners be damned. 

I came around the curve in the stairs and stormed across the wide hall, coming to a stand directly before our unannounced guest.

“What are _you_ doing here?” I demanded, eyes blazing so furiously I knew if it had been anyone else they wouldn’t have dared return my gaze.

“Bloody _alive_ , and not _dead_ like you’re supposed to be?” 

Would you believe my father _cringed_?

Started like a baby fucking deer in headlights and actually staggered a few steps back from me. 

“Careful, he’s been in solitary the past couple of years,” one of the Azkaban officials who flanked him warned me, catching my father by the elbow as he stumbled, seemingly unsteady on his own two feet. 

“That’s not my problem,” I hissed, shifting my gaze to the man. “He might have thought of that before he ended himself in Azkaban.

“Now, is someone going to tell me what the _fuck_ he’s doing here?”

My voice had been rising throughout this little diatribe, and my magic as well, apparently, as evidenced by several of the crystals on the chandelier shattering and sprinkling down around us. 

“Well, erm,” the other official scratched the back of his neck nervously. “Azkaban’s going through a few changes at the moment…” 

“I believe Lucius was to be given the Dementor’s Kiss years ago,” Harry cut in, eyes no longer laughing as they ran over my father’s person. “Officer?” 

“Mitchell,” the man replied.

“Thank you, Officer Mitchell. Perhaps you could start there.” 

I noticed my father’s gaze flick over to Harry then, the barest hint of indignation and the faintest trace of the old Lucius in his eyes as he took in his nemesis standing beside me, comfortable and at ease in what had once been _his_ home. 

I’ll be honest, it was an oddly nice realisation. 

“Well, erm…” Officer Mitchell started again. “You know, they stopped using Dementors years ago…” 

“Well aware,” Harry assured him, eyes still locked on my father’s. 

“And so anyone who’d been sentenced to the Dementor’s Kiss had their sentences commuted to life without parole instead, and… and…” 

“So what’s Lucius doing here?” Harry asked, frowning over at the Mitchell, who stammered to silence immediately. “Last I checked Malfoy Manor wasn’t a prison.” 

He flashed another impish grin up at my father here.

“Although, I suppose, you _did_ try, that one time….” 

“They’re shutting the place down, temporarily,” Officer Mitchell explained. “It’s been real bad out there. 

“Building is decrepit, facilities are atrocious… you know how they’ve been overhauling the entire Ministry, making it fairer, modelling it after other places that have been successful in their results and all.

“They’re going to be rebuilding the wizarding penal system from the ground up, looking at Norway for a model, seeing as they’ve such a low rate of repeat offenders.

“Surprised Lord Malfoy, here, hasn’t heard more about it,” he finished, nodding in my direction, and Mum, Father, and I all started.

Even though it had officially been my title for over ten years, people rarely called me that, and it still sounded like my _father’s_ name, to my ears. 

“I had heard,” I answered, finally finding my voice and continuing with a summary of what I knew about Norway’s unique justice system. 

Pansy and Hermione had both been talking about Norway’s restorative justice system for months, both of them advising the Ministry to adopt a similar model that would seek to rehabilitate prisoners from the inside out, giving them the tools needed, both psychological and work or trade-related, to re-enter society as fully contributing individuals. 

And hearing it from the two of them, their eyes sparkling excitedly, this restorative justice system had sounded like a great idea. 

That is, until I found myself confronted by the living ghost of my father on Samhain. 

Because he was a ghost, you realise. 

A slip of his former self, gaunt and pale, even for Malfoy standards, his silvery locks hanging in greasy, ragged clumps around his shoulders, looking as though they hadn’t been washed or combed or trimmed in years. 

His striped Azkaban uniform hung on his shoulders, entirely too large, making him look rather as Harry had back at Hogwarts, swimming in a sea of ill-fitting, cheap fabric. 

The silver-topped cane he had favoured and had used to intimidate those around him was long gone, as was the glacial, haughty stare that had once quelled any disobedience on my part with a single glance. 

“But that’s really more Pansy and Hermione’s department,” I finished. “I certainly wouldn’t have known the details or that they were shutting Azkaban down.” 

“And that’s all still beside the point,” I added, shifting my gaze over to Officer Mitchell, who seemed to have been designated the official spokesperson for this ridiculous assignment. 

“Why am I only learning that he’s alive _now_ instead of five years ago when his original sentence was said to have been carried out?

“Surely my mother and I should have been made aware?” 

Officer Mitchell looked down at his shoes, a bit sheepish.

“Well, as I mentioned earlier, he’s been in solitary for a while… erm… apparently they... they forgot about him.” 

His eyes flicked up for a brief second as though about to meet mine, then the man thought better of it and stared back at the floor. 

“ _Forgot_?” I echoed, trailing my eyes over my father’s emaciated frame once more. “Please tell me that’s not your only excuse?” 

I was sure even Arthur Weasley would agree that forgetting about a prisoner, even one as odious as my father, and leaving him in one of Azkaban’s notorious solitary cells with no access to food, water, or other basic necessities, was a clear sign that something needed to be done about our current penal system.

Although, like I’d already said… I wasn’t sure I wanted those reforms to necessarily put me back in regular contact with my father. 

Mitchell continued to stare at the ground, feet shuffling nervously, and I realised none of this was his fault; taking my anger and frustration at the situation out on him was all but shooting the messenger. 

“I’m sorry,” I apologised, and his eyes did jerk up to me then, surprised at the apology. 

“This is all just rather sudden,” I explained. “And, not to mention, it’s Samhain.” 

Mitchell nodded in sympathy. 

“They decided tonight was best,” he replied. “New beginnings, and all.” 

“So that’s it?” I demanded, ire rising again, despite myself. “You just dump him here in my hallway on fucking Samhain, and now he’s _my_ responsibility? I have to take care of him?” 

Officer Mitchell looked sheepish again.

“No, he’ll have a small team of dedicated guards and doctors who will work with him.” 

“Where are they?” I asked, eyes flitting around the immense chamber as though a little crew might appear from its depths. 

“They’ll be arriving tomorrow afternoon,” Mitchell’s eyes glanced over at Mum, who was reaching a hand out towards me.

“Don’t worry, Draco,” she was saying, laying a hand on my shoulder. “I’ll watch him tonight. You and Harry go back to the Weasley’s and continue your evening.” 

My father’s eyes flared, and he teetered a bit from the shock of hearing that name, spoken without any hostility, spilling from mum’s lips, and I couldn’t help the teeny smirk I sent in his direction. 

“Erm…” Officer Mitchell cleared his throat. 

“You may go, gentlemen,” my mother assured them. “Thank you.”

"Just a second," Harry interjected suddenly, eyes flicking over to the two officers. 

"I don't think I need to explain to you that you've seen nothing here," he told them. "At all." 

The two men nodded vigorously, but Harry still turned his attention towards me, eyebrow raised in question. 

Without answering, I quickly Obliviated the two men of the scene they'd witnessed upon entering the manor and the two men departed, looking quite glad to do so, I might add.

The three of us turned to stare at my father once more and Harry burst out laughing again, slumping against me, leaning his arm upon my shoulder and burying his face in the crook of his elbow, shoulders still shaking with laughter.

“Well, I'm glad you think this is funny,” I snapped, wondering if this was some weird coping mechanism Harry resorted to when he was upset or nervous that I didn't know about yet.

“It is!” he insisted, lifting his head to grin at me. 

“I mean, just this afternoon, George asked what your father would think of the two of us.” 

Father’s mouth gave a twitch of distaste. 

“A Malfoy… associating with those Muggle-lovers…” he rasped, voice as frail and brittle as centuries-old parchment, and I briefly wondered if a voice could, indeed, break from lack of use. 

As if reading my mind, Father was overcome by a coughing fit, nearly doubling over as his vocal cords reacted to being used after years of silence. 

“Carrying on… having relations with… with…” he wheezed on, straightening and glowering down at Harry as though trying to find the suitable words to convey his distaste, lip curling into his trademark sneer. 

“And to think, I’d had such high hopes for you, Draco.” 

I couldn’t stop the laughter that bubbled up in my throat at that, and I had to agree with Harry for the moment; there was something almost comical about this entire situation.

Mum’s brief flicker of a smile told me she was thinking the same thing. 

“Pity I didn’t follow your lead,” I spat out, laughter dying away for the moment. “Then we might both be standing here, in all your Azkaban-worn glory, together.” 

“You never gave it a chance,” Father argued, straightening once more, eyes blazing. “You never fully supported the Dark Lord and gave him your full support. Never lent the full extent of your power, which was considerable, even then. 

“You even had the perfect opportunity to turn this brat and his band of snivelling supporters over, and you _chose_ not to. Pretended not to know it was him. 

“Of course, now I know why.”

His eyes flickered disdainfully over Harry once more, and I felt my anger rising as I stepped forward to put myself between him and Harry.

Not that my father seemed remotely capable of causing any harm.

And not that Harry would have actually _needed_ any help on my part, but, well…

“Might I remind you that you are currently standing in the middle of _my_ entry hall, in _my_ manor, completely at the mercy of _my_ will as Lord of this estate.” 

I barely recognised my own voice, it was so cold and cut through the silence like ice. 

“I would choose the next words that come out of your mouth very carefully.” 

My father looked taken-aback, if only for a brief second, as though suddenly realising that he was no longer Lord Malfoy, only to resume his signature haughty stare.

His mouth, however, twitched, and I smirked, knowing he was biting back some vicious retort.

“He’s right, you know.” 

Harry’s voice broke the silence once more, and three sets of eyes turned to stare at him curiously. 

Harry was chuckling to himself again, eyes trained on my father as a smirk appeared on his lips.

Remember, Harry smirking was a very dangerous thing. 

“That’s got to rankle with you a bit, hmm, Lucius?” he asked, sidling up to me and leaning against me as I wrapped an arm around his waist to pull him closer. 

“I mean, here you are, having devoted your entire life, having given up… everything, really.” 

Harry’s eyes did a quick once-over of my father’s emaciated frame. 

“Hoping to become that idiot’s right-hand man, only to realise that, not only did you _have_ the secret weapon, but you helped _create_ him…” 

Harry turned and nuzzled against my neck, burying his nose and inhaling deeply before straightening and fixing my father with a derisive smile.

“Voldie would have been _so_ proud.” 

Mum let out an uncharacteristically ebullient squeal of laughter, which she quickly silenced, though her eyes still sparkled with mirth as I turned my head to stare at Harry with a mixture of awe and disbelief. 

Really, though. 

When had my boyfriend become such a snarky bundle of sass?

“Thankfully, for you, Harry dear, and the entire world, our Draco took a decidedly different path than the one that his father had hoped,” Mum cut in, smiling at Harry before turning to me.

“Draco, darling, where did you want to put him?” she raised an eyebrow and tilted her head towards my father, who was scowling at the floor in front of him. 

“Are the stables still standing?” I wondered aloud, pulling Harry into a hug and resting my chin atop his head as I met my father’s stare.

“Although, I suppose even those would be a luxury, compared to what you’ve grown accustomed to.” 

Father said nothing, just returned his scowl to the floor. 

“The second guest chambers in the East wing ought to be all right,” I sighed, responding to Mum’s question in earnest this time. “None of the elves are here, I don’t think. I gave them the weekend off, seeing as it’s a holiday.

"We can have Loïc or Flavie set up anything else that might be necessary next week… or see if Kreacher is interested in helping. 

“Bessie will not be asked to go near him,” I added, giving Mum and Father a pointed stare. 

“I’ll bring him up now,” Mum assured me, reaching over to kiss my cheek as she turned to begin up the stairs. 

“You boys had better hurry back. It’s nearly sundown.” 

“Narcissa,” Harry protested. “You can’t spend Samhain alone here. With him.” 

“Well, he certainly isn’t going to stay here by himself,” she reasoned, turning to give Harry another smile over her shoulder. “And I can’t say I had any horribly exciting plans lined up...” 

“No,” Harry interrupted, and I recognised that look in his eye.

Merlin, and people called _me_ stubborn. 

“And besides,” he continued, glancing warily at my father. “I know he’s emaciated and weakened, but I don’t necessarily trust him here, or alone with anyone, if the proper wards and security measures haven’t been put up. 

“We’ll have to take him with us.”

“And you’re welcome to come, too, of course,” added, licking his lips and looking at Mum nervously. “Andromeda and Teddy will be there.” 

Mum smiled fondly and blinked down at the floor.

“Harry, that’s very kind of you,” she thanked him. “But I can’t imagine showing up at the Weasley’s on Samhain unannounced. Especially one where the veil will be so easily crossed.” 

“No.” Harry shook his head. “If anyone would understand exactly why neither of you should be alone tonight, it’s Molly and Arthur.

“Just… give me a minute,” he added, and with a little pop, he was gone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure if there's another name, or if any of you have suggestions for a better name, but I call the Azkaban guys "Officer" because  
> they’re Azkaban Security Officials and I don’t know what else to call them. 
> 
> I’ve honestly been thinking of bringing Lucius back for a while now, and I’m sure you’ll all have very conflicting opinions about that, but please be nice!   
> I went and “killed” him off early on then became somewhat obsessed with the idea of Lucius simmering quietly and powerless in a corner somewhere watching Draco fall madly in love with Harry, so… he’s back.


	43. Samhain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Samhain celebration at the Weasley House
> 
> ** THIS CHAPTER MAY CAUSE TEARS/TRIGGERS/OVERALL SADNESS... MANY GHOSTS RETURN TO RECONNECT WITH CHARACTERS** 
> 
> I made up the French incantation loosely based on this one in English that I found online. More or less the same sentiment.  
> "Five candles in a circle  
> Hear these words  
> Hear my cry  
> Sprit from the other side  
> Come to me  
> I summon thee  
> Cross now the Great Divide."

_Saturday Evening_

_31 October 2009_

_Draco’s POV_

Well, this certainly hadn’t been how I’d envisioned spending the holiday, following Harry, Molly, and Aunt Andromeda towards the tent with Mum and Father trailing uncertainly behind me. 

While I understood their concerns about leaving Mum alone with someone as devious as my father, I certainly didn’t think it merited dragging him along to ruin a perfectly wonderful Samhain celebration. 

Harry had returned to the Manor mere minutes, it had seemed, after he had left, Aunt Andromeda and Molly in tow, both of them absolutely adamant that Mum and I return to the Burrow where we could all take turns keeping an eye on Father. 

I should have known, given all seven Weasley children’s fiery dispositions that Molly herself would be a force to be reckoned with, and by the time Mum and I had tried offering our feeble arguments, I understood why Ron, a full-grown man standing well near two metres tall, still cowered at the mention of his mother when she was angry. 

As for Aunt Andromeda.

Well, I’d already known not to counter her. 

So here we were, less than twenty minutes later, crossing the Weasley’s garden, watching as the guests twirled and danced beneath the tent, sipping on cider and mulled wine, eating canapés, and, altogether, enjoying their evening. 

I was waiting for the moment when they would notice us and the thinly disguised disdain would appear on their faces — the accusing stares in my direction, seeing as it was basically my fault Lucius Malfoy was there to ruin their celebration. 

A nasty thought kept circling, telling me some would even find the time to pull Harry aside and urge him to reconsider our relationship once they were faced with this unpleasant ghost of my past, and it managed to lodge itself as a nagging little whisper somewhere at the back of my brain. 

“Narcissa, we’ve just absolutely enjoyed getting to know Draco,” Molly was saying. “He’s been such a help with preparing for tonight, not to mention anyone who can make our Harry smile the way he does is always welcome here.” 

And, fuck Merlin, but what was this ridiculous Hufflepuff-nonsense feeling of joy and elation swelling in my chest as Molly’s eyes sought both Harry’s and mine, giving us a warm smile. 

“He’s been enjoying himself as well, no doubt” Mum replied with a knowing smile of her own. 

“Draco always wanted siblings when he was younger, and I imagine he’s experienced what that might have been like these past few days.” 

“What’s this? You’ve always wanted siblings, Malfoy?” 

George suddenly grabbed me from behind and dragged me down into a headlock. 

“Well, why didn’t you _say_ so? We could’ve given you the _deluxe_ Weasley-Sibling-Weekend package!”

He ruffled my hair as he held my head to his side, Charlie jumping in to tickle me as I struggled, shrieking and laughing in the most un-Malfoy-like way you could imagine, and, had I not been so preoccupied with retaliating against the two older Weasleys, I would have made it a point to catch Father’s expression. 

“Maybe it’s all for the better you didn’t have any brothers or sisters,” Harry was saying, nearly doubled over in laughter as Charlie and George finally released me. 

“There’s no way you could have ever kept your hair or clothing as neat as you do if you’d had.”

“Don’t be stupid, Potter,” I replied, straightening my coat and smoothing my hair, trying, and failing, to glare haughtily at Charlie and George. “I would’ve been the eldest, which, everyone knows, gives you extra clout.

“Right?” I frowned, looking to George, Charlie, and Ron for reassurance as other guests began to gather round. 

“That’s a thing, isn’t it?” I continued. “Everyone worships the oldest sibling.” 

“Absolutely,” Bill answered smoothly, gliding past me and grabbing Charlie and George into headlocks on either side of him. 

“You get to rule the roost with an iron fist, mess ‘em all up a bit, and they still love you for it.

“Now get out of their way and let our guests sit down,” he finished with a roguish grin as he dragged his two younger brothers off to the side with ease, despite the fact that both of them were taller than he was. 

“Actually, Narcissa, it’s probably good you only had Draco,” Ron piped up, grinning over at me. “Speaking as a younger sibling, I’d hate to imagine the sort of pranks he might have played.” 

Mum raised an eyebrow, then glanced over at Ron with a wry smile.

“Yes,” she replied. “I think it’s rather obvious why we stopped at just the one.” 

I shot her a look of mock outrage as Luna came walking up to Harry and I, her usual dreamy expression in place.

“I’m so glad you and Draco finally figured it out,” she said, leaning forward to hug Harry and smiling over at me. 

“It really cleared your Cromplesnuffle infestation right up,” she added, stepping back and nodding serenely at Harry while I turned to give him a bewildered stare.

His what-er-snuffle what? 

He shrugged at me and turned back to Luna.

“Erm, yeah. It’s really nice to… be rid of that,” he replied, scratching at the back of his head and nodding in agreement. 

Around us, greetings and other introductions were taking place as we continued towards the table groaning under the weight of all the food and drink piled on it. 

“You boys need to catch up,” Micah informed us, she and Ginny appearing at our sides, glasses of mulled wine held out, which Harry and I gladly accepted.

“We’re a good couple of glasses ahead of you,” Ginny chimed in, raising her glass to toast us. 

“And that Luna chick made the most kick-ass goat cheese-pear-candied walnut thingies,” Micah continued, pointing over at the tray of canapés as she dragged us over to the table. 

“They’re fucking bomb and you need to go eat, like, seven of them right now.” 

A quick glance behind told me that Arthur and Amos were leading my father off to some far corner of the tent, and I grinned down at Harry as I took a bite of the goat cheese toast.

Micah hadn’t exaggerated.

Luna’s “goat cheese-pear-candied walnut thingies” were incredible, as were the other pre-dinner treats she’d brought for us to enjoy while the evening got itself underway. 

Little bowls of spiced nuts and pumpkin seeds were floating around, encouraging guests to pause between sips of wine to appreciate their salty-sweet goodness, as well as beckon everyone over to the table, where a fruit platter, laden with dried apricots, figs, pomegranates, and more surrounded a large pastry-crusted wheel of raspberry-baked Brie.

“Make sure I don’t fill up on this… or eat the entire thing,” I told Harry as I scooped a large dollop of the melty cheese onto a piece of bread. 

“Because I will.” 

I glanced around again, looking for Mum and saw that she was being led around the various clusters of people by Teddy, who had clearly taken it upon himself to introduce her to everyone. 

Her eyes lit up when she met Fleur, the two of them, undoubtedly, launching into a conversation in French, happy to find another person who spoke it. 

My gaze landed on my father again, still guarded by Arthur and Amos, both of whom were enjoying themselves and mingling, raising their glasses and smiling, calling out greetings from afar. 

I caught Father’s eye and gave him a falsely cheerful little wave and raised my glass in a mock toast.

“What…” Harry began, then stopped, raising his glass in a similar toast when his eyes landed on Father, who was scowling and looking miserable in his corner. 

“Really, this has got to be the most perfect punishment for him,” Harry confided, arms snaking around my neck and pulling me down for a quick smooch. 

“Being forced to see all these people he hated and belittled for years, all content and living their lives.” 

Harry rose on his tip-toes, seeking another kiss. 

“Seeing you, with me… happy.”

He was right, I realised with a start.

This had to be torturous for Father, and I couldn’t help but laugh aloud at that. 

“Draco!” Fleur’s voice broke me away from my thoughts and from Harry as I turned to locate her in the crowd. 

“They’re lighting the bonfire now,” she said excitedly. “We’ll do the ceremony soon. Your mother is going to do it with us.” 

Sure enough, a small group was gathered around the wood we’d stacked earlier, shooting flames at it with their wands, George, unsurprisingly, being the most enthusiastic of the bunch. 

Bloody pyro, that one. 

The Sacre du Voile ceremony was easy enough to perform once the fire was lit and blazing happily, the potion I had brewed earlier having been sprinkled liberally over the flames, the ingredients all noted for their ability to blur the divide between the world of the living and that of the dead. 

Fleur, Mum, and I walked the perimeter of the clearing, the ancient French incantation of blessing and safety for all within falling easily from my lips as I cast a protection spell with my wand. 

I could see the protective bubble rising up and around, expanding to meet the similar spheres being cast by Mum and Fleur. 

It was important to put up protections against any unwelcome spirits, and I shuddered to think of what sorts of unpleasant ghosts could potentially return to haunt this group — and how many of them would be either related to me or somehow tied to my past. 

The spirits most likely to arrive would be those having powerful connections with anyone inside the circle, looking to see a lost loved one and provide closure between the dead and the living when one might have crossed the veil unexpectedly. 

You know.

Like just about everyone whose photo was on that table.

Once the protection shield was up, the three of us gathered in the centre, wands raised, Mum and I following Fleur’s lead as the ceremony officially began, calling first for Air and the knowledge and renewal it represented.

A golden breeze whirled through the circle, gracefully skirting the edges of the clearing before settling as a shimmering yellow vortex at the Eastern point. 

A clockwise turn to call Fire’s passion, energy, and protection — a wall of flames springing up around us, slowly extinguishing around the perimeter until just one fiery pillar stood guard at the South. 

Another turn now, to summon Water and its ability to bring peace, healing, and compassion, manifesting as a giant wave cresting over the dome, crashing down and sweeping through the circle, settling as a gently undulating cobalt pool in the West. 

We turned to summon the last element, calling Earth’s abundance, wisdom, and endurance as little green tendrils began to sprout up and around the invisible shield, crawling and twisting into a glowing curtain of vines and greenery in the North.

Finally, a ball of brilliant white light appeared suddenly from the east, blazing clockwise around the circle until it had touched all four points, then sending a beam of light out from each point to shoot out of the tips of our wands, created a giant pillar of light in the centre of the circle. 

“ _Cinq lumières qui brillent en rond_

_Ecoutez ces mots, cette enquête profond._

_Ecoutez ces cris,_

_O grands esprits de l’au-delà._

_On vous en_ _supplie_

_de nous rejoindre dans cet endroit._

_Venez_ _, on vous_ _a appellé_

_à traverser cette voile_ _sacrée_ _._ _”_

The five spheres of light gave one brilliant surge of energy, then faded away, and even I shivered at the thick blanket of magic that enveloped the space then. 

“Did… did it work?” Ron asked nervously, glancing around as though expecting a barrage of ghosts to come barrelling up the path. 

“I can’t imagine that it didn’t,” Mum answered. “But we won’t know until someone, if anyone, comes.”

“The spell does not _compel_ the spirits to come,” Fleur added. “It will not force anyone, but it helps them feel our magic, our energy, and lets them know we are a welcoming space for them if they _want_ to come.”

“So we just continue our evening like nothing and see if any ghosts appear?” Ginny asked a little uncertainly before letting out a little giggle.

“Now I’m worried if Fred _does_ show up,” she mused. “You know he’ll pull some sort of ridiculous prank to get us all going.” 

A few people laughed outright while others chuckled and shook their heads ruefully, because Ginny was right, and Molly looked as though she wanted to cuff her daughter round her head. 

“Don’t you dare say anything that might keep him away,” she scolded with a wave of her wand to float a large metal tub towards us.

“Now, if we’re supposed to carry on with our evening and hope someone comes to say hello, who’s up for a bit of old-fashioned apple-bobbing? 

“Bragging rights as a prize to whoever gets an apple first… no magic allowed!”

Another flick of her wrist and the tub filled with water and a variety of apples, and we watched, cheering as Teddy and Victoire, followed by Dominique, ran up to the tub, plunging their faces in immediately. 

“I got one!” Victoire exclaimed triumphantly seconds later, taking the apple from her mouth to wipe at her dripping face with the sleeve of her robe. 

“Aww!” Teddy resurfaced shortly after. “Granny Smith! I wanted the other kind!” 

Soon there was a crowd of people happily bobbing for apples, and I just about died of shock when Aunt Andromeda turned to Mum and said:

“Why don’t we have a go, Cissy? You always won when we were little.” 

“Oh, Andromeda,” Mum replied. “I haven’t done that in _years_ … probably not since we were children, honestly!” 

But she and Aunt Andromeda were making their way towards the massive tub of apples, laughing like schoolgirls, and I watched in fascination as Mum… _Mum_ knelt on the ground, seemingly without a care for her robes, and plunged her face into the bucket. 

“Well, now you have no excuse, Draco,” Charlie called out with a grin. “I expect to see you and Harry next.” 

“Oh, I was never intending to sit this out,” I replied, grinning over at Harry. “Care to make it interesting, Potter? 

“Naughty act of choice to the winner?” I waggled my brows at him suggestively and Harry’s green eyes sparked as they flickered over my body, Harry licking his lips so deliciously, I broke protocol to see what sort of prize he might be envisioning.

Apparently I wasn’t the only one hoping for a victory blowjob. 

“You’re on,” he agreed, taking my hand and tugging me towards the basin where Mum and Aunt Andromeda had just come up, gasping with laughter and taking the apples from their mouths as they waved themselves dry with a quick spell.

Luna, Elizabeth Diggory, and Sarah Fawcett beat us, however, and I took the opportunity to glance around to see what Father was up to. 

Bill and Hermione were standing guard over him, the two laughing and clearly enjoying themselves despite being separated from the crowd, and I frowned, automatically starting in their direction.

“Don’t you dare,” Molly’s voice rang out beside me and I turned to stare down at her in surprise. 

“The veil isn’t the only thing that’s thinner on Samhain,” she reminded me, reaching out a hand to gently touch my forearm. 

“Everyone’s emotions are a little raw and on edge, which is why you and your mother will not be worrying yourselves with watching him while you’re vulnerable. 

“We’ve plenty of people he can’t get at with his words, and you’ll have more than your share of time to watch him after tonight,” she added, and I smiled down at her gratefully, words escaping me for the time being. 

“Oy! Trying to get out of some apple-bobbing, are you?” Harry’s voice brought Molly and I back to the festivities and I turned, ready to win against Harry. 

I mean, sure, I could probably convince Harry to give me a blowjob any time, but there was something about winning one….

I hurried to kneel across from him and grinned to myself as I cast a quick spell that waterproofed me from head to toe before plunging into the basin, mouth open, seeking one of the plump, pink Honeycrisp apples floating by, pinning it to the bottom of the barrel so that I could sink my teeth into it before lifting my head, still perfectly dry, out of the tub, Harry’s head popping up at exactly the same time.

Victory blowjobs for us both, I guess. 

“What?” Harry demanded, removing his apple from his mouth, soaked from head to shoulder, glaring at me, still dry. 

“Waterproof spell,” I replied as we stood and moved aside. “No one said you couldn’t use magic to keep you dry.”

“Bloody Slytherin!” George yelled from somewhere, earning some chuckles and a shrug of acquiescence from me.

Suddenly, someone wrapped their arms around my waist, tackling me from behind and seconds later, I found myself sitting smack in the middle of the basin of apples, sputtering up at Harry who was standing over me triumphantly and cackling with glee. 

“Bloody Gryffindor!” George yelled, earning more giggles from the crowd.

“It _was_ courageous of him, I’ll give him that,” I growled, standing and allowing Harry to wave a hand at me to dry me off. “Not to mention rash and ill-thought-out.” 

“Now you’ll have to be continually on your guard,” I warned him, folding him into a hug and resting my chin on his head. 

“Constant vigilance, Potter, because I assure you, I _will_ get you back.” 

Harry shoved me away playfully and made a big show of escaping, eyes watching me warily.

“Oh, not anytime soon, Harry,” I assured him as the apple bobbing resumed around us. 

“It’ll be when you least expect it, forgotten about it, even. 

“You knowI can wait _months_ before collecting my payback.” 

I grinned as Harry’s eyes widened comically, no doubt thinking back to this afternoon. 

“Bloody hell, I don’t even want to know what you nutters are talking about,” Ron muttered with a quick shake of his head.

“No,” Harry agreed with a little smirk. “You probably don’t.” 

And I couldn’t help but laugh as I pulled Harry into my arms again. 

Behind us, Victoire had just bobbed for another apple and was using her mum’s wand to spin the skin off into a delicate spiral which she then tossed over her shoulder.

“Is that a ‘K’? I can’t think of a boy’s name that begins with that…” she wondered aloud, staring at the peel lying coiled on the floor. “Maybe an ‘R’ for Richard or Rhys?”

“What’s going on?” Micah whispered, nudging me.

“Oh, it’s a fortune-telling game,” I explained. “You take the apple peel and throw it over your shoulder and whatever letter it forms is supposed to be the first letter of your future spouse’s name.” 

“Oooh! Gin!” Micah squealed, grabbing onto Ginny’s hand and jumping excitedly. “I wanna throw an apple peel!” 

I couldn’t tell you what letter the apple peel Micah threw over her shoulder resembled, but she kept insisting that it was a “G,” and I was about to ask what sort of horrid penmanship skills they taught in the US to make her think the discarded pile of apple peel remotely resembled a “G” when I noticed Harry about to toss his own ribbon of peel over his shoulder.

“Draco!” Ginny scolded, laughing moments later. “You’re not supposed to use magic!” 

“I didn’t do anything,” I countered innocently, glancing down at Harry’s apple peel which now spelt “Draco” in neat cursive on the ground. 

Right.

Probably shouldn’t have modelled it after my own handwriting.

“Insufferable git,” Harry chided, smiling happily despite his words as we watched Luna try to decipher her apple peel.

“Maybe a ‘P,’ or an ‘F’…” she was muttering.

“I sure hope it’s not an ‘F’ — as in Fred — otherwise that’s going to be a rather disappointing relationship for you,” George joked from behind Luna’s shoulder.

Only it wasn’t George. 

A loud gasp went up collectively from the crowd as we stared at the figure before us, looking as real and as solid as he had twelve years ago; it was only when he tried to clap a hand on Luna’s shoulder and it passed straight through that it became clear he was no longer part of the physical realm. 

“Oh, no,” Fred scolded, shaking his head as he ambled over to Molly and Ginny, both with tears welling up in their eyes. “No, no, no, no, no…

“There’ll be no crying tonight,” he informed them. “I won’t allow it. 

“We don’t have time for tears. I’ve waited long enough to see you all as it is.” 

Ginny and Molly nodded, doing their best to stop crying, but failing miserably. 

“Fred?” George had noticed the commotion and was staring at his brother from the apple-bobbing tub with a mixture of disbelief, awe, and sadness.

“What, did you not recognise me? And you call yourself my twin?” 

While Fred’s reply was right on par with the sort of witty comment one would have expected from Fred, his voice wavered slightly and the smile he offered his brother was rather shaky. 

“How… how are you?” 

And, despite his earlier chiding for shedding tears, Fred’s face fell and his smile faltered as he stared at his brother. 

“I…” George started. “Where… when…”

“Well, I’ve been up at Hogwarts, but then I felt this pull to come back home… I hadn’t been able to find it before… someone here cast quite the spell.” 

“Y-you’re at Hogwarts?” Ginny interrupted as Fred and George continued to stare at each other, still not quite believing they were reunited, even if only for a short while.

“Course I am,” Fred replied, reaching out to chuck his little sister on the head, his hand passing right through her head. 

“Where?” she demanded, glaring up at him. “I’ve never seen you there.”

“Outside the Room of Requirement, of course,” Fred answered. “Where else would I be?”

“Do you know if anyone else is coming?” Harry asked timidly from behind Fred’s shoulder, and he turned, an enormous smile on his face.

“Harry! Mate, how’ve you been?”

His smile faltered when he saw me, but then he gave a quick shake his head and grinned knowingly, looking between Harry and I.

“I see, Malfoy,” he teased with a laugh. “Now we know why you were always following Harry around, causing trouble!” 

“Well, he didn’t have a ponytail I could pull, so I had to improvise.” 

I shrugged and tugged playfully at Harry’s tangle of hair and people laughed, thankfully lightening the mood a little. 

“What are we all standing around, for? Don’t you all need to eat?” Fred asked, frowning at us as he looked around at the small sea of faces still focused on him. 

Micah, I noticed, was staring, slack-jawed, eyes darting between Fred and George, her face having gone a bit pale as she reached for Ginny’s hand. 

Fred began walking towards the tent, arm going up to sling itself around George’s shoulder, as if out of habit, only to pass through his brother’s frame, falling to dangle back at his side, and we all followed their lead, abandoning the apples for a more substantial meal.

There were two long tables inside the tent, and we ended up sitting, more or less, divided between the “adults” and the “children” — we “children” all being in our late twenties and early thirties. 

I found myself at one end of the long bench, Fleur to my left and Harry nestled, as usual, against my right, seated across from Ginny and Micah. 

Bill sat at the head of the table, with Ron and Hermione to his right, and Charlie and George on his left; Luna sat between George and Micah, dreamily taking in the surrounding scene. 

“Oy, Mum! Lucius can sit with us,” Bill called out, noticing that the “adult” table was looking for a spot to put my father, who was staring sullenly at the ground in front of him. 

“We’ve got a seat free at the other end where he won’t get in anyone’s way.” 

Bill shot a glance in my direction as though making sure I was okay sitting in such close proximity to my father, and I nodded.

“Lucius!” Fred exclaimed as my father settled stiffly into his chair, grinning at him excitedly. 

“You mean you’re still _here_? In the realm of the living? I thought for sure you would have joined us by now.”

He paused and regarded Father carefully.

“And, to be honest, you might have turned up looking a little better if you had,” he added in a theatrical whisper, as though letting Father in on a big secret. 

Father merely huffed and rolled his eyes, looking as though he’d just stepped in something foul, and Fred ignored him with a shrug, turning his attention back to his brothers at the other end of the table. 

Platters of roasted pheasant zoomed over, along with bowls of warming squash and rabbit stews all accompanied with freshly baked pumpernickel and rye bread, and the conversation paused slightly as we began to eat. 

“Hey, Lucius!” George called out a few minutes later, he and Fred grinning down at our end of the table, looking so much as they had in school, that even I teared up a bit despite the mutual dislike we’d harboured back then. 

“We were just asking Harry earlier today,” Fred continued, taking over for his brother, nevermind that he hadn’t been there. 

Everyone knew that the Weasley twins were “we,” even when separated by death. 

“What you would think about Draco buggering the Boy Who Lived?” George finished. 

Father threw them a withering glance before returning his attention to his food, which, I realized, was the first actual food he’d have eaten in at least five years. 

“I don’t think it requires any effort of the imagination to wonder what I would think,” he replied curtly, tearing off a tiny corner of bread and dipping it into the stew before bringing it to his mouth and chewing slowly, the reintroduction of solid food evidently taking some getting used to. 

“He got enough of an eyeful this afternoon to make an informed opinion, I’d imagine,” Harry commented around a mouthful of pheasant, grinning over at Father. 

“Didn’t you, Lucius?”

“If you think you’re, by any means, the first man Draco’s ever draped over a bannister, flung across a table, or thrown up against a wall in an effort to get a reaction out of me, you’re sorely mistaken,” Father replied, pointedly avoiding the leer Harry was giving him.

“Merlin, Malfoy,” Bill gasped, taking a sip of his wine and laughing. “Don’t you have a bedroom to call your own somewhere in that giant house of yours?”

"Maybe it’s a pure-blood thing?” Micah pretended to ponder, trying hard not to laugh. “They don’t know what in the world a bedroom’s used for….” 

“Of _course_ we do,” I shot back, allowing my full drawl to come out, partly for effect, and partly just to remind Father that I _could_ do the signature Malfoy drawl of disdain, but just chose not to. 

“It’s used for _sleeping_ , you bloody peasant,” I added, sticking out my tongue so she’d know I was only kidding, and Micah threw her head back and laughed.

“Holy shit,” she gasped. “Now _that_ accent… I can hear that one! 

“You sound like a pretentious asshole!” she declared, throwing a bit of crust at me to emphasise her point. 

“What, like him?” Fred asked, jerking a thumb in my Father’s direction from where he sat between Luna and George, eerily blending into both of them, as the space between them on the bench wasn’t actually large enough for a person. 

“Yeah, actually.” 

Micah nodded as she spooned a bite of stew into her mouth.

“So, is the pretentious act a wizard thing or an upper-class thing?” she asked, grinning as she looked back and forth between Father and I. 

“A Muggle, are you?,” Father sneered before I could reply that it was probably both, as far as Father was concerned. 

“Arthur must be thrilled.”

Micah, however, didn’t seem to have even heard his jibe and she was frowning somewhere beyond Harry’s and my head, as was everyone else on her side of the table. 

“Hey!” she exclaimed pointing excitedly and grinning again. “You’re the… you’re the potions-Godfather dude!” 

I spun around to see Severus sneering down at us, although whether at Harry, Father, or all of us in general, it was hard to say. 

“Yes,” he replied, his onyx gaze flickering over to Micah with just the barest hint of a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. “I am the potions-Godfather… dude.” 

Hearing those words roll off the lips of Severus Fucking Snape was enough to throw the entire table into a fit of laughter, calling the attention of the “adult” table on the other side of the tent.

“Severus!” Mum said, smiling and rising to her feet as several other adults called out a greeting to my godfather, who nodded at them each in turn.

“Draco,” he said, and I felt an icy chill as his hand passed through my shoulder, Severus having clearly tried to lay his hand upon my shoulder in a father-like gesture as he always had when he’d been alive. 

“It’s wonderful to see you,” he continued as I stood and turned to face him, smiling even as I felt the tears prickling behind my eyes. 

“Severus,” I managed around a forced smile, taking in my godfather’s ghost with its ghastly gash across his neck, and I seethed inwardly that a man as wonderful as my godfather was doomed to wander the afterlife with this constant reminder of his gruesome death. 

“I wish you could have seen the effects of the Hangover potion I brewed for this table earlier today,” I said finally, picking a topic that would lighten the mood and make Severus proud. 

He smiled and tilted his head towards the table.

“You’re welcome, all of you.” 

“Honestly, Snape, why didn’t you teach us that sort of potion at Hogwarts?” Charlie asked, grinning over at us. 

“Would’ve been useful to know as a young, just-graduated wizard!”

Charlie had always been interested in Potions, and had, despite being a Gryffindor and a son-of-a-Weasley, earned a place of grudging respect in my godfather’s eyes. 

“Charles, you well know I could never openly teach something like that at Hogwarts, but what on earth did you think the Unconventional Headache and Pick-Me-Up potions I taught in Advanced Potions during your Seventh year were?” Severus replied, arching a brow in Charlie’s direction.

“However,” he continued, mouth twitching into a smile at Charlie’s sheepish grin. “The addition of the lavender was all Draco’s idea.” 

We were so engrossed in the conversation that we hadn’t noticed the commotion at the other table until Harry stood suddenly beside me.

“Mum? Dad?” the question tore from his throat and my heart literally ached for poor Harry as he stared across the tent to where Lily and James were in conversation with Molly and Arthur, clearly discussing Harry and me, judging from the lean of their heads and knowing smiles in our direction. 

“Harry,” Lily’s voice floated across the tent as she and James moved towards their son. 

“I’ve been looking forward to seeing you again ever since… ever since…” 

Lily stopped walking and turned back to look at Mum and the two women smiled at each other. 

“Thank you,” she said to Mum. “Thank you for saving Harry that night.” 

I frowned, eyes snapping to Harry, then back to my Mum and Lily. 

What in Merlin’s fucking beard was she talking about?

Saving Harry that night?

“What is this?” Father stood suddenly, hands immediately planting themselves on the table to steady himself, weakened from the sudden burst of energy. “You _saved_ the boy?”

He swung his head round to fix Harry with the most loathsome glare I’d ever seen, which, honestly, is saying something, before turning his attention back to Mum.

“I did,” she replied, chin raising slightly.

“When Voldemort tried to kill me a second time, he asked Narcissa to check and be sure I was dead.

“She said I was, even though I wasn’t,” Harry spoke up, eyes fixed on his mum and mine, a grateful smile on his face. 

“YOU!” Father shouted, cutting Harry off and taking a step towards Mum, but then seemed to think better of it, seeing he was vastly outnumbered. 

“You _knew_ he was alive? He was still alive, and you _lied_?” 

“They were children, Lucius. _Boys._

“And I wasn’t going to have it anymore. I was finished, and I did what I could so late in the game, so, yes, I _lied —_ lied to that evil, pathetic madman, and my only regret is that I hadn’t taken Draco and left it all behind sooner. _”_

 _“_ How dare you, you ungrateful, unworthy…” Father trailed off and turned to sneer at me, my hand clutched tightly round Harry’s. “Now I know where our son gets it from. This ridicu…”

“Oh, Lucius, will you _please_ shut up,” Severus cut him off and Father turned to stare at him aghast. 

Oh, bless his cold little heart.

Had he really thought Severus on their side up til now?

“One of the things I was most looking forward to, once the war was over and I no longer had to play double agent, was telling you exactly how I felt about you and the way you raised Draco. 

“The only wise thing you’ve ever done, regarding him, was naming me his godfather. At least that allowed there to be the merest whisper of reasonable guidance in his life. 

“You, unfortunately, insisted on behaving like a pompous, insecure piece of scum, taking pleasure in belittling others to feel good about yourself and teaching Draco to do the same.”

Severus paused to slant his gaze over to Harry and James, who had crossed the tent and now stood protectively behind his son. 

“Not the same thing,” he replied icily to their unanswered comment. “I had other reasons to dislike both you and your son.”

Apparently Legilimency carried on to the afterlife. 

“A real parent would be proud of Draco; he’s successful and well-respected within the Ministry and wizarding world on account of his own merit, not just his name and title, something I doubt you could have ever accomplished.

“For what it’s worth, Draco,” Severus turned to me and smiled stiffly. “I’m very proud of you… despite your… questionable choice of partner.” 

Severus, however, offered Harry the barest hint of a smile, and Harry all but beamed at him while I managed a wavering smile of my own.

Because I _wasn’t_ crying. 

“Yes!” Fred sailed gleefully over the table, as always, lightening the mood, passing through Luna and I on his way to land beside Severus, giving him a ghostly attempt at a clap on the back. 

“That was _brilliant!_ I had no idea you had it in you, Snape!”

“Yes, well…” 

Severus seemed unsure what to make of Fred’s enthusiastic outburst. 

“Molly, Arthur,” he shifted his attention to the other end of the tent once more. 

“Might I be of service and take over watching Lucius for the remainder of the evening? I feel my presence here might best be used so that you can enjoy the rest of your celebrations without any further… babysitting.”

“Well… yes, Severus, if you’re sure,” Molly replied, glancing up at Arthur, then around the table at the other adults, before fastening her gaze back on Severus’ ghost. 

“Absolutely.” 

He turned his icy black stare down to Father.

“Come, Lucius.” 

And with that, Father, seeming to finally realise that no one here particularly craved his presence, rose with a somewhat stunned look and followed Severus to the far corner of the tent where a comfortable armchair appeared, Father all but collapsing into it under my godfather’s watchful stare. 

“Mum, Dad,” Harry turned excitedly to his parents, who had continued crossing the tent to stand beside our table.

Harry glanced back at me, green eyes sparkling in a way I’d never seen before, and I couldn’t even fathom what was going through sweet Harry’s mind right now, surrounded by his closest friends and family, introducing his parents to his boyfriend, being able to share a part of his life with them that, quite honestly, seemed so normal — and sometimes a downright pain-in-the-arse to those of us with living parents. 

“This is Draco,” Harry was saying, tugging me closer to where he and his parents stood. “He’s… he’s… my…” 

He broke off, suddenly shy, and glanced sheepishly over at his parents, lips pressed into a thin line. 

“Your boyfriend?” James supplied with a grin, and, despite everyone going on and on about Harry having his mum’s eyes, James’ impish grin and the mischievous glint in his eye just then were pure Harry. 

“Erm, yeah,” Harry grinned again. “I suppose that was sort of… obvious.”

“Hello, Draco,” Lily greeted me, smiling warmly. “I’m so glad we’re able to meet you. 

“Molly was telling James and I that you’re quite gifted at brewing potions and cast an excellent Reparo!”

“That’s because of me,” Harry piped up. “I break things… I mean, erm, because I’m a bit clumsy, not….”

Lily winced.

“You got that from me, dear, I’m sorry.” 

“A professional Quidditch player, and clumsy,” James sighed with a rueful shake of his head, a little smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. 

“How do you explain that?” 

“Well, nothing’s really all that breakable in Quidditch,” Harry replied earnestly, bless his sweet, little heart. 

“Like, you know, the Snitch and the broomsticks are all…”

He paused and stared at his father suddenly. 

“You’re joking,” he realised with a groan, and I couldn’t help but pull him towards me and plant a kiss atop his silly head as I folded my arms around him, laughing along with Lily and James.

“I guess I’m so excited to be able to _talk_ to you and not, you know, be about to fight for my life or something” Harry explained sheepishly. “I wasn’t really thinking.

“Also, I wasn’t expecting you to be so cheeky….” 

“Well, your own cheek had to come from somewhere, right?” I teased, and Harry’s dad laughed outright. 

“Your father was constantly getting in trouble for his lip,” Lily was saying, shaking her head up at her husband. 

“Meanwhile, I was always stood off to the side, shaking my head, much like Draco probably does with you.”

Ha. 

I loved Lily already. 

“ _Draco_?!” Harry sputtered, jerking out of my embrace to look at me then his mum in disbelief. 

“Don’t let this angel-face fool you — this one here’s more an imp than the actual devil.”

“Oh, we know,” Lily assured him. “We’ve watched the two of you gallivanting around enough to know that _both_ of you are absolute rascals.”

Harry blanched suddenly, one hand reaching out to grab at my suit and twist, nervously pulling me closer.

“You… watch us?” he asked hollowly.

“Well, of course, we do,” Lily replied, and I’ll admit even I felt a tad nervous and squicky as I glanced at Harry’s parents apprehensively. 

“We love watching your Quidditch matches and seeing you laugh and have fun with your mates, and…” 

She broke off as James burst out laughing again.

“What?”

“I think Harry and Draco were worried we might have accidentally dropped in on one of their more… intimate moments,” he explained, still chuckling, and I was pretty sure ghosts couldn’t blush, but it sure felt as though the colour rose in Lily’s cheeks for a second.

Harry, bless him, was as red as a tomato. 

“No, Harry, darling,” Lily assured him. “Although I fully admit to peeking in a bit on a few of your dates, but only because it was so wonderful to see you so happy and carefree, but we only watched from afar — couldn’t even hear a word.”

“Nor would we want to. A young man deserves his privacy, even if his mum and dad are ghosts,” James added. “We would never think to violate your privacy like that.” 

“But _I_ would,” a gravelly voice countered, and I turned to see a face I had seen displayed, howling and yelling, hundreds of times in The Prophet, but had no idea what it, and its owner, was doing here of all places, and talking to Harry of all people. 

“Sirius!” Harry exclaimed, dropping my hand like a bloody hot potato and throwing his arms around the ghost that had just appeared, only to stumble straight through him. 

“I’m so fucking happy to see you, I don’t even care,” Harry declared, righting himself and turning to grin at the man. 

“And I’m pretty sure you’re joking, anyway,” he added, glaring at the man as he sauntered around and came to stand beside James.

“Can we all step back for a moment and appreciate what a top-rate boyfriend our Harry’s found himself?” another voice said, and I allowed myself to stop staring at Sirius Black — one of the most dangerous fucking criminals in existence, who had, far as I knew, been the one to betray Lily and James to Voldemort — and saw Professor Lupin grinning over at me.

What in Merlin’s fucking name was going on here?

“Do you see how Draco’s standing here, protecting Harry, ready to take on a ghost… and not just any ghost, but one as allegedly insane and dangerous as you, Padfoot?

“And all to protect our dear Harry from harm,” Lupin continued, stepping between James and Sirius, slinging a ghostly arm around each of their shoulders as they all looked at me, standing partially in front of Harry, eyes still trained on Black, absolutely ready to spring to action should he try to fuck with my Harry in any way.

I had no idea how to fuck a ghost up, mind, but I was going to give it my best shot.

“Oh!” Harry piped up, stepping up beside me and grinning. “You don’t know! 

“Sirius, he’s not a baddie.”

“Says who?”

The plus to being raised amongst the “badies” was you knew never to trust anyone who said they weren’t a “badie.”

Rule number one, really.

I was still gazing warily at this Black fellow, who, I knew, was my cousin — which, honestly, only strengthened the case he was a badie, didn’t it?

He had the same pale skin, high cheekbones, and slightly haughty good looks that had been passed down from generation to generation in the Black family, as well as the thick black hair that, I’m told, had originally given the family their surname. 

He was handsome, which was something that hadn’t quite come through in all the Wanted posters printed in the Prophet and plastered all over Diagon Alley. 

“He was set up by Pettigrew,” Harry was saying, and I frowned over at him.

“Harry,” Sirius laughed. “I doubt Draco has any idea who Peter Pettigrew even is.” 

“Of course I do… dumb, simpering rat-faced-looking man,” I sneered, more at how aggravating I’d always found him to be rather than at Sirius, which, somehow, I think he understood. 

“Always grovelling at Voldemort’s heels, licking his boots even more cleanly than did my father.” 

“Couldn’t have said it better myself,” James muttered darkly. 

“Pettigrew was my parents’ actual Secret Keeper,” Harry informed me quietly. “He convinced them at the last minute that Sirius would be too obvious a choice. 

“Then he killed all those Muggles to escape and left Sirius to take the blame.”

I couldn’t have masked the expression of horror that washed across my face then even if I’d tried. 

“With that all out in the open, let’s try again, shall we, cousin?” Sirius offered, holding out his hand, and I reached for it, despite knowing I wouldn’t be able to grasp it.

I held my fingertips up against his ghostly ones, feeling their icy coldness as we mock shook, me staring at my older cousin, his cool blue-grey eyes so similar to my own and Mum’s. 

He had a knowing smirk on his face that made me wish I’d known him growing up.

Something told me he might have been a useful ally for a young, pureblood wizard questioning his entire existence and what was said to be his rightful place within the world. 

“Just look at them, Mooney, shaking hands all proper-like,” James teased. “What, are you two trying to be upper class or something?”

“Not trying,” I retorted, smirking over at James, having already surmised that, amongst this group of jokers, there were very few limits.

Sirius threw his head back and positively howled with laughter. 

“You can take the boy out of the manor,” Sirius gasped, straightening “But not the mannerisms out of the boy, apparently.” 

“Except Draco’s still in the Manor, technically,” Harry interjected. “He’s Lord Malfoy, now.” 

“What?” Sirius asked. “But how? Unless my eyes deceive me, our dear Lucius is there, in actual flesh and blood, scowling at Severus as though doing so might triple his Galleon count.” 

I couldn’t help but laugh because Sirius’ description so aptly described my father’s expression as he sat under Severus’ watch and gave a brief, parent-friendly, explanation, of what had happened earlier this evening and why Father was here tonight. 

“They _forgot_ him?” Sirius blanched. “In solitary? Holy Morgana.” 

“Is it that bad, mate?” Lupin asked, glancing curiously over at my father, and Sirius shuddered.

“I wouldn’t know,” he replied. “Was never put in solitary myself. 

“Of course, all the cells at Azkaban are fairly solitary…” 

The ghostly cluster and Harry were all staring at my father with what I now immediately recognised as stupid Gryffindor-like sympathy, and I rolled my eyes.

“If it helps, you should all know that he’s not changed at all,” I informed them, watching as five heads snapped back round to stare at me. 

“He’s still the same Lucius he’s always been. 

“I assure you, I’m as appalled as you are at the negligence, on principle, and I intend to speak to the Ministry about it on Monday, but… don’t waste your time feeling sorry for him. 

“He’d still turn any of you over to that maniac in a heartbeat.” 

There was a brief pause as we all contemplated my father.

“I’d like to go talk to Snape for a minute,” Harry said suddenly.

“He helped us when we were searching for the Horcruxes, and I never had the chance to thank him properly.”

“Come with?” he asked, tugging at my hand and I nodded, grateful that Harry had sensed my desire to talk to my godfather and created a subtle way to excuse ourselves from the ghostly group surrounding us. 

“Snape’ll at least be pleased to see you, I mean,” he added, with a little grimace and I had to roll my eyes.

“Harry, love, we all know my godfather was never one to show his emotions; he still won’t _look_ pleased.” 

“Draco, it was wonderful to meet you,” Lily reached out an icy hand and placed it on my shoulder. 

“Yes,” James agreed, holding out his hand as though to shake mine, then dropping it hastily. 

“Keep looking after our Harry, will you?” 

“Absolutely,” I replied, checking my watch and seeing that the night was still young. “And I’m sure we’ll get to talk more later.”

“I’m rather hoping to hear some fun stories about baby Harry,” I continued with a smirk down at Harry.

“You see, he and my mum have taken to texting each other weekly, and this one here almost always ends up with another embarrassing baby photo of me in his possession, and I was hoping you might be able to help even that scale for me,” I added, leaning in towards James and Lily and winking consiprationally.

Harry’s parents burst into laughter, joined by Sirius and Lupin.

“Bloody hell,” Lupin gasped. “If it’s stories about how cute this one was as a baby you’re after, we’ve got stores of them!”

“We’ll figure out the best ones to share with you,” Lily promised with a wink of her own as Harry scowled and we made our way across the tent to where my father and Severus sat. 

“What’d I tell you, Potter?” I sing-songed under my breath, tucking his arm into the crook of my elbow and pulling him close. 

“I always get my payback.” 

"Draco, Pott — Harry,” Severus greeted us with a small smile and a slight tilt of his head. 

“What brings you to this corner? Surely you have better things to be doing than tolerating the company of two surly old men?” 

“I, erm,” Harry began at once, in true Harry-fashion. “I wanted to thank you.” 

He paused and stared at the ground for a moment before taking a deep breath and fixing Snape with those ridiculously green eyes of his, and a part of me briefly wondered if Harry did that on purpose, knowing the effect his eyes, blazing full of sincerity, would have. 

“For your help to get Ron back to us and locating the Sword of Gryffindor.” 

Father made a noise of protest and Snape smirked over in his direction.

“It would appear Lucius is still coming to terms with just how firmly on the side of light I truly was.”

"Only because you played your part so well,” Harry assured him earnestly. “I honestly wish I’d known earlier.”

“Please don’t take this the wrong way, Potter, but with your horrendous Occlumency skills, such knowledge would have only served to alert Voldemort to my duplicity and had me killed sooner.

“While I understand your wish to have known the truth, and appreciate your reasons as to why, that could have never been a reality.

“However, I am glad I could share the truth, and my story, with you in the end.” 

“Oh, this is pathetic,” Father grumbled, rolling his eyes. “Look at the lot of you, simpering and snivelling like a bunch of Hufflepuffs. 

“Surely you don’t mean to tell me that your abysmal betrayal of the Dark Lord stemmed from your silly schoolboy crush on the boy’s idiot mother?” 

Harry bristled beside me and next second, Father was blasted out of his seat, flying backwards about a metre and smashing into the thick trunk of an ash tree. 

Snape started beside me and I heard a few gasps from inside the tent.

That was the thing about living with Potter. 

You became almost immune to how bloody powerful the man was and you forgot you were supposed to be impressed when he casually flung a full-grown man through the air without so much as blinking. 

Harry’s gaze remained focused on Father as his frail frame lifted and floated back and was deposited back into the armchair, Father wheezing and groaning from the impact of the blast.

“Don’t. Talk. About. My. Mum. That. Way.” he warned, voice eerily quiet for someone like Harry, who typically resorted to Gryffindor-like yelling and shouting when he was angry. 

“I won’t warn you again.” 

Father glowered back at Harry, who was still so angry I could feel the waves radiating out of him and the lights in the tent were flickering dangerously. 

I reached out to pull Harry towards me, cupping his face in my hands. 

“Hey,” I murmured, sliding my hands around to cradle his head, threading my fingers through his hair and Harry's eyes slid shut momentarily.

“He’s not worth it,” I told him gently and Harry sniggered.

“I remember telling you something similar regarding the Dursleys,” he muttered, eyes fluttering open to glare at me, although the tiniest of smiles was quirking at the corners of his mouth. 

“I know, and that’s why they’re still alive, living their mundane insignificant lives out in Surrey,” I reminded him, leaning down and brushing the tip of Harry’s nose with my own and his eyes slid shut again, lips seeking mine, and I finally felt the waves of anger emanating from him subside.

“Do you want to go talk to your parents some more?” I asked, pulling back and Harry nodded, glancing over his shoulder to locate his parents, Sirius, and Lupin in the tent. 

“You go on,” I told him, kissing him briefly once more. “I’d like to talk to Severus a bit more while I have the chance.” 

Harry nodded again, smiling up at me happily, then turned, practically running back to his parents and their two friends with all the eagerness of a puppy making a beeline for its favourite human. 

“You and Harry seem extraordinarily happy,” Severus commented with an uncharacteristically warm smile. 

I nodded.

“We are.” 

I gave a brief shake of my head, the utter bliss and perfection of life with Harry astounding me once again. 

“You should know, the man is turning me into an absolute Hufflepuff, just in case there was any doubt to how powerful a wizard he is.” 

“There was no doubt about either,” he replied silkily. “You turning into a Hufflepuff or about Harry’s power.” 

I paused, daunted, frankly, by the overwhelming sense of urgency that I was drowning in, wanting to make the most of every precious moment I had with my godfather and not knowing quite where to begin or how to pick through the milestones of my life to share the most important.

Not to mention asking about what life… existence… was like for him now. 

“Draco.”

Severus’ voice called me back to reality, and I focused my attention back towards him.

“Stop overthinking,” he advised. “You’re making my own head hurt, the way your brain is cranking out scenarios.” 

Severus had, honestly, been the only person who’d ever been able to penetrate the iron-clad boundaries of my mind and always knew exactly what I was thinking or feeling. 

In the end, I told him all about Harry and I — the 15-rating version, mind — and we had just moved on to a very involved discussion regarding the Erised Case when Charlie appeared at my side, holding two plates of Barmbrack cake. 

“It’s time for cake,” he informed us, holding one plate out to me and one to Father, and, for a brief moment, I wondered whether all this hospitality towards Father was being done out of the honest-to-goodness purity of the Weasley’s hearts or to shove in his face how they could be hospitable and kind and he’d be forced to accept their gestures. 

“Sorry, we can’t…” Charlie began, looking at Severus, who held up a hand.

“Think nothing of it,” he assured him, gesturing to another chair that had appeared between mine and his own. 

“Please, sit.” 

Charlie obliged, handing me my slice of cake before grinning over at Severus.

“So, Snape,” he began, digging into his slice. “Any chance you could give me your insight on a recipe for a healing poultice?

“We have a few dragons with these lesions on them that are particularly nasty and the traditional poultices and potions… well, they work, obviously, but take weeks, and, well, I was thinking you might have some thoughts as to how to improve them.” 

Snape frowned in thought, and soon, the three of us were in a deep discussion regarding the potions and Charlie’s dragons.

“Argh,” Charlie gasped, spitting out a mouthful of his cake and examining it.

“Bloody hell,” he laughed. 

“Mum!” he called out, holding his handful of cake up high. “I got the bloody pea again! Big surprise, that one!”

The pea in one’s slice of Barmbrack foretold that one would _not_ be getting married within the year. 

“Charlie, you get that bloody pea every year!” Ron yelled. “I think you’ve jinxed it so you get it on purpose!”

“Would that I could,” Charlie replied with a roguish grin. “But I’m afraid the life of a dragon-tamer is rather lonely and not the most conducive to wooing a lifelong partner.

“If any of you come across a lad or lass who loves camping and living in the constant shadow and flames of dragons, please, introduce us.” 

“I’ve got a coin!” Teddy yelled gleefully, holding up a knut triumphantly. “I’m gonna be _rich_!” 

“Or lucky, dear,” Aunt Andromeda reminded him.

True to most fortune-telling gimmicks, the tokens hidden within the barmbrack cake had multiple meanings and interpretations. 

Of course, that didn’t stop any of us from devouring our cakes and hoping we had a token of good omen hidden in our slices.

Luna sputtered next, spitting out a scrap of cloth.

“Oh no,” she sighed. “Bad luck. And we just finally managed to rid the garden of cockatrices.” 

“I got a pea, too!” Micah cried out, holding up the offending object and glancing at Ginny worriedly. 

“No worries love,” Ginny assured her with a quick kiss. “Just means we won’t be married within a year.” 

“Oh,” Micah agreed, nodding. “One year? I guess that’d be rushing things a bit…”

“A matchstick?” I grumbled, plucking the chewy wooden stick from my mouth and holding it out to examine it. 

“What’s that mean again?” 

“An unhappy relationship or a major argument,” Hermione replied, because, of course, she knew. 

“Well, blimey, Malfoy, I’ve got that, too,” Bill laughed, plucking another thin sliver of wood from his mouth.

“Tell you what, Bill,” I grinned over at him.

“I’ll let you sleep at mine when you and Fleur have your major argument if you let me recuperate at yours from whatever nasty hexes this one will send my way when we have ours.” 

“A sleepover at Malfoy Manor?” Bill mocked back good-naturedly. “Count me in.”

“Some fortune teller this thing is,” Ron cut in. “Oy, Harry, Draco, the two of you will have a massive argument at _least_ once this year, you hear?” 

And, of course, we all laughed because Ron was right.

“I’ve got the ring!” Ginny called out excitedly, holding up a miniature golden ring, then frowning. 

“How are you getting married within the year if Micah’s not?” Fred wondered. “I always said fortune-telling was barmy!” 

“Who is she?” Micah demanded with a mock glare. “I swear to god, I will hex a bitch!”

“How are you going to hex someone?” Ron asked, laughing.

“I don’t know,” Micah replied. “I’ll steal someone’s wand and do something with it!” 

“Hey! Harry’s got a ring, too!” Luna called out suddenly as Harry spat something into his hand. 

“Oh, I see what’s going on,” I bellowed, rising from my seat beside Severus. 

“Micah, luv, you won’t have to go stealing anyone’s wand, I’ll hex the both of them for you!”

“Once wasn’t enough, apparently,” Ginny joked with a shrug, although she was still leaning heavily into Micah’s side. 

“Right, sure,” Harry snorted, taking a sip of wine. 

“I’m about to give up what _we’ve_ got,” he gestured haphazardly at me then himself, “to go play awkward het again. I can hardly wait.” 

“Well, then, I suppose Draco and I will just have to get hitched, and then we can sit in a corner and glare at these two and mutter about it under our breaths,” Micah acquiesced. 

“Not until next year, darling,” I called out. “We didn’t get the rings.” 

Father, I noticed, looked positively outraged that I was even joking about marrying Micah, a _Muggle_ , and I couldn’t help myself.

“Wait a minute!” I demanded with a gasp of shock. “Is this all just a ruse to get me to marry a Muggle and make Father even more proud?” 

“Yes, darling,” Mum’s voice cut through the roar of laughter. “Molly, Andromeda, and I have been planning it for years.” 

“Nice to see our hard work’s finally paid off,” Molly agreed, raising her glass to Mum and Aunt Andromeda without skipping a beat. 

The laughter died down and everyone went back to eating more cake and Soul Cakes, little shortbread biscuits filled with strawberry-rhubarb jam that were, in my opinion, little bites of heaven.

Severus and Charlie were still discussing dragon poultices and I took the opportunity to rejoin Harry and his little family. 

“Lo,” I greeted them, straddling the bench and scooting up so that Harry was leaning back against me. “Hope I’m not interrupting.”

“Not at all,” Lupin assured me. “Harry and James were just talking Quidditch while the rest of us pretended to keep up.” 

“I suppose it is time for a change of topic,” James mused as he grinned over at Harry and I. “And it was baby stories you were wanting, right Draco?” 

“No,” Harry cut in quickly. “He was joking.” 

“I was one-thousand per cent serious,” I replied, looking back at James earnestly.

“Blimey, that’s even more serious than me,” Sirius joked and we all groaned.

“Are you sure you’re not a father?” Lily asked wincing. “Because that was a definite dad joke.” 

“Draco,” Lupin spoke up. “You’re a Legilimens, aren’t you?” 

I nodded.

“We might be able to do better than just telling you stories,” he continued. “It’s my understanding that mobile devices are much more advanced than they were twelve years ago.”

I nodded again and held out my hand as my mobile came zooming into it. 

“And there’s now a Pensieve app? Where you could store memories, almost like a photograph itself?” 

I nodded again and opened my Pensieve app and selected a memory of Harry and I pedalling on the Serpentine on our first date, Harry grinning over as he caused the other pedalo to circle and go off track to show to the group.

“Wow,” James sighed. “Can you imagine? A mobile Pensieve where you could just access all of your memories, just like that.” 

I brought the mobile back and flipped through to find the one of Harry blissfully biting into his avocado toast with a poached egg at another lazy brunch we’d enjoyed just a few weeks ago.

“Your son’s got a bit of a thing for avocados,” I informed them, and Lily and James laughed.

“He always has,” Lily replied, smiling fondly at the memory where Harry’s eyes slid shut and a beatific smile appeared on his face as he savoured that first bite. 

“I’ve had avocado before?” he asked, straightening suddenly and smiling over at his parents. 

“Yes,” Lily replied, shooting a dirty look at James. 

“Your father thought it’d be fun to let you try a bite when you began eating solid foods, and you _loved_ it and would throw an absolute fit when you couldn’t have it, which was positively dreadful when they weren’t in season.” 

Lily paused then fixed her emerald stare on me.

“Here,” she urged, leaning forward. “We’re not sure if it will work, with the divide, but…” 

And I reached out and slipped into her mind and gasped, because it _did_ work, and the memory in question was precious beyond words.

I held up my phone and deposited the memory into a new folder I’d labelled “Baby Harry” then held it up for everyone to see. 

Baby Harry — who was just as ridiculously adorable as I would have expected with his trademark mop of dark hair, huge green eyes, and the most squishable baby cheeks you ever did see — was sitting in his high chair, pudgy little hands reaching for something off-screen. 

Suddenly a little aeroplane spoon, carrying a bite of avocado appeared Lily making the appropriate aeroplane noises as it came zooming and spiralling into the frame.

Baby Harry gave a squeal of delight and clapped his little hands with glee as the aeroplane zoomed towards him, opening his little red mouth to claim the avocado, his emerald eyes staring up in awe at his mum as he gummed at his mouthful, a huge grin taking over his features as the clip faded. 

“Are you kidding me right now, Potter?” I exclaimed, burying my face in his neck and wrapping my arms around him, holding him tightly against me. 

“I hope you realise I’m only feeding you via aeroplane spoon from now on.” 

“It’s a good thing I’ve learnt how to feed myself and don’t need your assistance, then,” Harry replied huffily. 

“Oh, come on, Potter,” I cajoled, reaching out to catch one of the Soul Cakes zooming into my hand and spiralling towards his mouth, making zooming noises.

“Open up.”

Harry, of course, had his mouth clamped shut, and I bumped the biscuit against his unyielding mouth making engine sputtering noises as I did so.

Harry finally opened his mouth, and I gently nudged the biscuit into his mouth only to yelp in surprise as Harry’s teeth snapped down around my finger, not with his full force, but enough for me to drop the remainder of the biscuit and pull my hand away to a safe distance.

“I’d have never guessed looking at baby photos would be so dangerous,” I quipped. “What other memories have you got?” 

“Oh!” Lupin leaned towards Harry and I. “I’ve got a good one.” 

I extracted the memory from his brain and turned my phone for everyone to watch — even Harry, who had settled himself back against me to watch. 

Baby Harry in this photo was just a few months older than he had been in the last, and he was sitting upright in the middle of the reception, staring up at the adults before him, babbling and cooing. 

“Ba-ba-ba-ba-badaga-ba?” Baby Harry’s babble ended on a higher pitch, as though asking a question, and he gazed at the adults all seated around him questioningly. 

“Harry,” Lily spoke first. “Can you say ‘ _Mummy’_?” 

“Ba!” Baby Harry replied with an excited little jerk. 

“No, Harry, ‘ _Mummy’!_ ” Lily tried again, laughing as she shook her head.

Baby Harry frowned and tilted his head at her.

“Mmmm….ba?” he tried again. 

“Harry, love, say ‘Dada’,” James tried. “I bet you can say ‘Dada!”

“GA!” Baby Harry repeated excitedly, his gaze turning eagerly towards James, letting out a string of excited syllables, none of which sounded like “Dada,” unfortunately. 

“Well, go on, Sirius,” James urged, laughing and nudging at his mate by his side. “You give it a try.” 

“Wouldn’t that be incredible?” a much younger, much more handsome Sirius laughed, and only then did I realise how much Azkaban had aged him. 

“Harry, darling, can you say ‘Sirius’? _Sirius?_ ”

Baby Harry frowned up at Sirius as Sirius repeated his name a few more times, Harry staring with rapt attention. 

“Bbbrrpt!” Baby Harry interrupted suddenly, blowing an audacious raspberry and cutting Sirius off. 

“Ha!” James burst out laughing. “Well, that shows what he thinks of your name!” 

“Moony,” Lupin cut in, Harry’s face turning towards the “camera” expectantly. 

“You can say ‘Moony,’ can’t you?” 

Baby Harry frowned, deep in thought, mouth working silently then:

“MOO!” he crowed triumphantly, lifting a bit off his bottom as he did so. 

“Yes!” Lupin cried back, grinning and clapping hysterically, which, of course, caused Baby Harry to sputter and drool with glee as he clapped his own hands.

“MOO… eee,” he tried again, clapping his hands together once more as the memory faded.

“Well, there you have it,” Lupin’s ghost grinned at us. “I was your very first word.” 

“Only because Moony is easier for a baby to gurgle out than Sirius,” Sirus huffed.

“No,” James cut in. “He clearly said ‘Da’ but it sounds a bit like ‘Ba,’ is all.” 

“Nevermind,” Sirius cut in. “I’ve a good memory to share with you, Draco.”

This one, I couldn’t have thanked my cousin enough for, seeing as it was the perfect companion to Harry’s memory of me on my first broomstick.

In this memory, Harry was a bit older, toddling about on his own, and I realised with a start that this would have been close to the end of his time with his parents. 

“James, Sirius, _no_!” Lily was protesting, albeit rather feebly, as James collected his toddling son up into his arms, giving little Harry a bear hug and a giant smack which made Harry squeal with laughter.

“Oh, come on, Lily,” James reasoned, turning his son round in his arms and sitting him on the broom — which I recognised to be a toddler broom, and not a real one — 

“Our little Quidditch player will be just fine.” 

“QUITCH!” Harry repeated excitedly, little hands reaching out to grasp the broom handle like the bloody natural he was. 

As he turned his little head over towards his mum, those emerald eyes blazing with a fire so familiar, and an impish grin flashing across his face so like the one I saw daily, it struck me how odd it was to see Harry without his lightning-bolt scar. 

It was such a key part of his appearance, but it struck me just then that all memories I would receive of Harry tonight would be of him before the scar.

A sweet, innocent, blissfully happy Harry — before the Dursleys, before Voldemort, before he’d been The Boy Who Lived. 

James and Harry were now teetering around the garden on the broom, James having hooked his ankles around the back so that his feet didn’t drag on the ground.

Baby Harry’s eyes widened in excitement and he turned his head to beam at his mum while he and his father slowly circled the garden. 

At one point, apparently because Potter had always been a show-off on a broom, Baby Harry lifted his hands up in a triumphant gesture before he gently toppled off the side and onto the grass, only to bounce softly and land on his bottom, one hand coming up to rub his head.

“Ouch,” he complained before grinning and turning back towards James, arms outstretched.

“Again!” he demanded. 

The evening continued, the four ghosts of Harry’s past sharing memories, until I glanced around and noticed the sky lightening and realised that we were amongst the last remaining in the tent.

“It’s nearly dawn,” Lily breathed. “It’s time for us to go.” 

“No!” Harry cried out, arms reaching out in a futile attempt to grasp at his mother.

“No! Please!” he gasped, chest heaving as he grappled, once more, with leaving his family to another world. 

“ _Please!_ ” he begged. “I know you can stay. Can’t you stay?” 

“I’m sorry, Harry.”

James himself seemed on the verge of tears. 

“We’re always here,” Sirius added. “Watching over you…”

“But not _too_ closely,” Lily interjected. 

“It’s just whether or not you can see us,” Lupin finished. “But we’re here for you, Harry. Just as we always were when we were alive.” 

“No!” Harry cried again with an emphatic shake of his head. 

Nevertheless, we stayed, smiling and saying silly nonsense to each other, until Lily, James, Sirius, and Lupin all faded away and Harry turned and collapsed into my arms, sobbing.

“Make it stop,” he cried. “Make it all stop.” 

“Make what stop?” I asked, pulling Harry as close as I could, one hand rubbing patterns across his back while the other threaded itself through his hair.

“I will,” I added, bending my face down to his wild mane to inhale deeply. “You know that.” 

“It hurts.”

The words tore out of his throat and I nearly burst into tears at the pain vibrating through his voice and entire psyche as he clutched at me.

“It hurts so much, Draco.” 

He paused a moment while he cried —real, actual, snot-laden tears— onto my shoulder. 

“I need you to make it stop,” he begged again, pulling back, hands holding my face as he stared up at me in anguish. 

“You can make it stop,” he sighed, arms pulling me close, his face burying itself in my neck, and I wished to fucking Merlin I understood what he was talking about.

Don’t get me wrong.

I got the emotional toll spending the evening with his parents and other ghosts had taken.

I just didn’t know what I was supposed to… or could do… to help my sweet Harry cope with it all. 

“Make it stop,” he sighed again, body all but collapsing against mine. “Please.” 

I turned my head to kiss Harry’s temple, hands still rubbing at his back and pressing him closer to me.

I continued to place kisses along Harry’s jawbone, then his collarbone, before trailing back up to his mouth, where I began placing soft, chaste kisses at Harry’s mouth, relishing in how he eagerly returned them. 

“I want to go to bed,” Harry muttered between kisses. “Want you to take me to bed and hold me.”

Half a second later, Harry was snuggled in my arms in our bed in the tent, both of us beneath a thick layer of down blankets, as I pressed kisses into him.

Into his hair.

Along his hairline.

Trailing along his neck, collarbone, and shoulders.

Returning to that exquisite mouth of his.

“Draco.” 

That fucking sob again.

“ _Draco_ , _please_.” 

How could I not continue to press kisses into Harry’s skin? 

Continue to love him and worship him and hold him closer to me than I ever thought possible. 

I continued to kiss Harry, lingering around his torso and hipbones, skipping his groin, then finding his exquisite thighs, legs, ankles and feet, worshipping them as reverently and lovingly as I could, repeating the cycle, relishing in the way Harry’s body clutched at mine, purposely avoiding the most obvious parts of him, knowing, somehow, that it wasn’t what Harry needed right now.

Instead, I laid on my side, pulling him close, continuing to press kisses into his hair, his neck, and across his shoulders until he finally drifted off to sleep with me wrapping my arms around him from behind, pulling him as close against me as I could. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The four elements and colours are a lot like the four Hogwarts houses, and while I think Earth and Fire’s qualities could easily stand for Slytherin and Gryffindor, I feel like Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw got Air and Water confused!
> 
> I know Harry cleared Draco and Narcissa at the trials, but I’m going to assume that their trials were all separate so they wouldn’t overhear important information from one trial to the next. And also cause it helped make this scene that Draco wasn’t aware of how big a role Narcissa played in Harry’s survival.  
> I know that Sirius was technically cleared of all charges posthumously but I’m assuming it wasn’t made a great deal and I’m choosing to believe that Draco had no idea. Also, makes for a better storyline, haha.


	44. The Best Laid Schemes Often Go Awry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ugh.  
> Creeper creeps so hard.  
> I cringe.
> 
> Also, just in case... the Vineyard in this chapter refers to Martha's Vineyard.

_Tuesday Evening_

_03 November 2009_

_Williams’ POV_

_“_ _The best-laid schemes of mice and men  
_

_Often go awry,_

_And leave us nothing but grief and pain,_

_For promised joy!_ _”_

- _To a Mouse, by John Burns_

I’m lost. 

Fucking _wrecked_. 

You were so close.

I almost had you.

You were within my grasp, or so I thought.

And, with one goddamn sentence, you fucking _ruined_ me. 

_“She saw the wrong person!”_

Merlin, you were so excited when you first turned to me, excited and full of joy, and it was almost too perfect.

Like how I always imagine you looking at me, those beautiful eyes of yours lighting up as a brilliant smile takes over your face, and for an instant, I could pretend you were happy to see me. 

Maybe the app suddenly worked?

_“She saw the wrong person!”_

And with one sentence, my world crumbled.

Everything I’ve been working towards.

All of my carefully constructed plans.

Gone. 

_Saw the wrong person._

Of fucking course! 

It explains everything. 

Tells me why you’re still fawning over _him_. 

The fucking Boy Who Lived.

Because, of course, he’d been there when I cast the app into your phone.

Because the two of you are in-fucking-separable.

And I planned it all so carefully — had been sure you’d been looking at me when I cast it, but… no. 

_You_ were looking at the _wrong_ person. 

As if the stupid Boy Who Lived needed another person to be obsessed with him. 

The Daily Prophet still ran monthly stories on Harry with some random witch he’d been photographed with and speculating about the nature of their relationship. 

Hell, I had half a mind to leak to them why none of these _women_ he was photographed with ended up being any sort of serious relationship. 

Except, then, of course, I’d have to out you, too.

And I would never do that, Draco. 

I would never hurt you. 

You’ve been hurt enough in your life.

I know about your past. 

I see the stares — the looks — people still give you when you walk by. 

I know you still hurt.

Still need someone to comfort you, and love you, and hold you.

And that’s all I want. 

I just want to be the one to love you and cradle you in my arms as you smile sweetly into my neck and tell me about your day. 

I want to be the one to run my fingers through your hair and feel you curl your body around mine. 

Don’t get me wrong.

I also want to fuck you, because _fuck_ you are a sexy motherfucker.

And let you fuck me.

And do every kinky, dastardly thing I know you liked to do with Ben.

And probably still do with Harry.

Except it will be a million times better with me. 

Tie me up — something you’ve always seemed rather fond of — tease me to the point of gibbered begging before sliding into me with that amazing dick of yours. 

Or I could choke you. 

Watch as your eyes slide shut and your body jerks as you cum, listening for that sated gasp of air when I release your throat and revel in the gravelly rasp of your voice declaring:

“ _Merlin_ , that was good,” while those exquisite grey eyes of yours flutter open and that smug smile reappears on your lips. 

Or a thorough spanking. 

Merlin, I’ll never forget _that_ night, when Ben had, apparently, had enough of your snooty attitude and had paddled you so hard and so long, I’m not sure how you managed to sit that pretty little ass of yours down for the next week.

And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think about how fucking gorgeous you’d be, your asscheeks flaming just as pink as the ones on your face, staring back and up at me, completely wrecked and begging.

Of course, you’d gotten your revenge soon after, tying the poor man up so securely (I’m sure you used magic, you sneaky son-of-a-bitch), then teasing and taunting him so close to the edge, only to leave him there, struggling and gasping for release, before returning and beginning the entire cycle again.

You did this for _hours_ , you devious, conniving, positively beautiful human, and when you finally let that stupid Southie brute cum, it sounded so spectacular, I’m still not sure where I’d like to be in this particular scenario with you.

Teasing you or being teased by you.

They both sound delicious, and, from what I could tell from your interactions with Ben, you switched back and forth quite often, and I’m not sure either of you had a preference.

But you’re not with Ben, now, are you.

You’re _supposed_ to be with me. 

But you’re with the stupid Boy Who Lived.

And I can only imagine what kind of dominance issues that one has.

You, my beautiful, dark angel — reduced to a submissive, love-sick fan, I'm sure. 

And it’s all my fault.

I made you obsess over him.

And he’s clearly obsessed with you.

Although, honestly, how could anyone _not_ be obsessed with you, Draco?

You’re fucking _perfect._

Beautiful.

Intelligent.

A tad naughty, but, Merlin, that makes you even sexier, doesn’t it?

And, hard a pill as it may be to swallow, Harry Potter really isn’t _worthy_ of you, now, Draco, is he?

Don’t get me wrong.

He’s beautiful.

But… not really your type, is he?

Attention-starved and kind of low-class for you, honestly. 

You need to be with someone who understands your station.

Who understands that, while times are changing, there are definite differences between the haves and the have-nots.

I mean, sure, you can be friends with them, and even fuck them.

But you don’t fucking _marry_ them. 

Or even get too involved with them, as I’ve clearly caused you to do with fucking Harry.

And now, here you are, smitten like a fool, having spent Samhain at the Weasleys.

The _Weasleys._

Fuck, Draco, but sometimes you’re a cliché of every poor, self-pitying rich boy when he’s feeling bad about his wealth and going off and slumming it.

First fucking Ben.

Then Potter, who, I know, isn’t slumming, but he might as well be.

And then the Weasleys.

Did you _really_ stay at their place for an entire weekend? 

This isn’t supposed to be what _you_ do on vacation.

I have that all figured out, too.

We’ll spend Christmas at the Manor with your mom - _mum_ — and summer on the Vineyard with my parents. 

But most of our time being blissfully happy and away from our silly parents’ prying eyes and asinine comments, snuggled together in our London flat. 

But we’re not, of course. 

And it’s all my fault because I wasn’t careful enough when I cast the app into your phone.

I shake my head now and stare at my face in the bathroom mirror.

The glamor I have to use at work. 

The one I had so carefully constructed when I received the promotion and moved to London.

The one that was supposed to remind you of Ben and pique your interest once we were working in the same department.

The one I was now forced to use, because, despite all my best efforts to look your type, you continued to ignore me.

Worse.

I shudder, remembering examining the crime scene at Ethel Hodge’s. 

The realization, when you’d allowed your perfect work mask to drop, and I had seen your eyes flick over me in that sort of regal disdain you do so well.

And then there’s work.

The past two days have been torture.

You’re too smart for your own good, Draco. 

You’re putting too much together, and too quickly. 

_“Well, fill us in, what did you boys discover Friday night?” Davies had asked as soon as we all sat down Monday morning._

_Of course, you_ _, in your typical, no-bullshit fashion, launched right into a discussion of how the app worked and your theory of how the caster only needed to intended to look at them for the love charm to work._

_It was fucking genius, really, I still had to admit to myself._

_A mix of_ _Amortentia_ _, the_ _Confundus_ _charm, and Imperio, all working to make the_ _intended_ _see that the caster was their one_ _true love_ _._

_First, the_ _Confundus_ _charm made one confused and impressionable._

_Then, a_ _modified_ _Amortentia_ _, allowing the person to become infatuated, and_ _thus,_ _fall in love with the caster, becoming_ _particularly_ _infatuated with the way the caster smelled... a fucking GENIUS twist on the actual potion, if I do say so myself._

_Finally, a_ _modified_ _Imperio, which caused the intended person to all but become the absolute perfect partner for the caster, according to their exact fantasies and wishes._

_Because let’s be real._

_We’d all avoid those little niggles and troublesome differences in a relationship if we could, right?_

_What really bugged me, though, was how you described me._

_Well, not me, but… the person behind the Erised App._

_Which was me, I know, but… you didn’t know_ _that._

_You_ _weren’t even vaguely impressed_ _._

_Just as you had on Friday night, you kept shaking your head, looking as though you wanted to retch and kept calling me “a fucking nutter.”_

Well.

If I’m a “fucking nutter,” it's entirely your fault. 

I’ve given you your chance.

 _So_ many chances. 

So many different glamors and you ignore each and every one. 

And now, inadvertently, you’ve managed to dodge my brilliant app. 

Although, I should have guessed you would prove such a difficult prize to capture.

Escaping the fate of most of your family, and rising up, like a goddamn phoenix out of the ash to become a respected name in England once more. 

You, Draco… 

You… my angel. 

My sweetheart.

My honey pie. 

_You._

You are proving much more difficult to tame than the average dragon. 

I’m going to have to step up my game.

Fuck this app. 

I’m going to have to come for you directly.

I smirk in the mirror as the glamor falls away, blond hair and dark blue eyes both fading to brown. 

I’m hot, Draco.

And it’s not just my ego talking.

I don’t blame you for not recognizing me; I’ve grown up and filled out quite a bit since I was a scrawny nineteen-year-old, stammering at you in awe in Boston. 

You’re a damn lucky son-of-a-bitch. 

I’m gorgeous — nearly as beautiful as you are (and no, you asshole, that’s not just ego talking, that’s every stupid bloke I’ve managed to pick up in the past couple of years, thank-you-very-much) — and we’ll look perfect together, once I get you caught up to speed. 

It’s time for a new plan.

One that leaves no room for error.

And, to start, we have to loosen you from that annoying Harry Potter’s grasp. 

And what better way than to reintroduce you to your darling Ben?

Obviously, I’ve kept tabs on him since your horrific split three years ago. 

It’s time to pay him a visit. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so I didn't include notes when I posted, but reading through, and after having read some of the comments coming in, I have a few things to say:
> 
> 1\. I don't know if this needs to be explained or not, but Draco seeming a little less... dominating in his relationship with Ben, and thus Williams seeing him as more submissive, is because I figured he would have been a lot younger then and was a) maybe still figuring himself out and b) I like to think of Draco as someone who really enjoys giving his partner what they want/need from a relationship... like, ultimately, that's what gets him off, and Ben would (obviously) be very different from Harry so their relationship, even physically, would look very different from his one with Harry, and c) just further highlights how much of this is inside Williams' head and he's insane and he has no idea what Draco is actually like... he's just created this fantasy version of him in his mind for the past six years but doesn't actually know Draco outside of pining after him at work. 
> 
> 2\. I don't want to give away too much. I know things are a little scary in the plot right now. But I stick by my original statement. I'm not the sort of author who kills off or drastically hurts any main characters without fair warning at the very beginning of the fic and clearly stated in the summary/warnings.  
> That is all I will say on the matter ;)


	45. Hell Freezing Over is Now a Weekly Thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Fabulous Six meet up post-Samhain.

_Friday Evening_

_06 November 2009_

_Pansy’s POV_

“I’m sorry, _what_?” I hissed, plunking my pint down and staring at Draco, then Harry, Hermione, and Ron in disbelief. 

We were gathered for what had quickly turned into our now habitual outing, Blaise jokingly calling it the “Friday Freezing of Hades.” 

It was the weekend after Samhain so, naturally, we were discussing what each of us had done over the holiday. 

Blaise and Anaïs had spent the weekend in France, celebrating with her family, and I was jealous just from the descriptions of the food alone, much less the photos of their cosy little traditional home nestled in the hills of Haute-Provence. 

I had counted the holiday as one of my three yearly perfunctory visits home, subjecting myself to the snide comments about my profession (borrowed from Muggles _and_ the US? The horror!) and my defence of Muggle-born wizards, all served up with a healthy portion of nit-picking from dear old mum and dad. 

I’d assumed Draco, Ron, and Hermione were going to have the best stories to share, given the sheer number of people and personalities involved, but I could have never anticipated the bombshell Draco had just dropped. 

“Your father is _alive_?” Blaise looked just as stunned as I was. 

“How in the world did he end up at your place?” I asked, glancing at Ron. “Like, did Azkaban just _know_ Draco was there or something?

“Don’t get me wrong,” I added. “I think it’s hysterical Lucius was forced to spend the evening watching everyone have a good time, but they just dumped him on your doorstep? 

“Rude,” I pronounced with a firm shake of my head. 

“No,” Draco replied, taking a sip of his pint. “We were at the Manor when they brought him.” 

“Yeah, these two thought they’d Apparate off for a bit of fun after our friendly Quidditch match,” Ron informed Blaise and me, leering over at Harry and Draco, who were happily snuggled up against each other, as per usual. 

“And, according to Harry,” Hermione interjected. “Lucius got himself quite an eyeful when they came to deliver him, hmm?”

“Oh, Merlin,” Blaise groaned, resting his face in his palm and I couldn’t help but roll my eyes and give Draco a look. 

In addition to an absolutely filthy mouth, Draco had an absolutely scandalous lack of modesty, and anyone who had ever lived with the ridiculous man no longer even batted an eye when encountering Draco and his latest paramour — his mum, his father, Blaise and I, every Slytherin student who’d attended Hogwarts from his fifth year on up…

Actually, I mused. 

There had also been that time during fourth year when some Sixth Year boys thought it’d be funny to hex Draco’s robes off to put him in his place (Draco, even as a Fourth Year, was already considered to be the actual leader of Slytherin house, Prefect and Head Boy be damned), and he’d just stood there, starkers in the middle of the common room not even ruffled in the slightest.

“Is this supposed to be embarrassing?” he’d asked, frowning as he’d glanced down at himself before back up at his perpetrators, genuinely confused. 

Then he’d casually Accio’d his clothing back to him and slowly pulled them back on, as though he’d had all the time in the world and had meant to dress himself in the middle of the Slytherin common room, smirking up at the older boys the entire time.

Needless to say, Draco had remained the house’s undisputed leader until we’d graduated. 

“Draco, darling,” I drawled, bringing myself back to the present day. 

“Do you mean to tell me that you still haven’t figured out how to Apparate directly into your bedroom or set up _fucking_ _wards_ before you go throwing our dear Harry across whatever surface you stumble into first?” 

“Potter made me do it,” Draco defended himself over the laughter of Blaise, Ron, and Hermione, while Potter, I noticed, was turning a most delicious shade of red. 

“I did not!”

He pulled away from Draco and glared at him. 

“Yes, you did,” Draco replied, taking a sip from his pint, his tone implying that this conversation was finished. 

Harry opened his mouth to argue but Blaise reached out a hand, as though about to cover Harry’s mouth. 

“Harry,” Blaise chided with a warning shake of his head. “Surely you know Draco well enough by now to recognise _that_ tone. 

“Whatever he’s just said is absolute fact in his mind, and there’s no point arguing it. 

“Don’t worry, though, we all know you didn’t force Draco to throw you across the billiards table or wherever you ended up.” 

“Billiards table, hm?” Draco pondered suggestively amidst another round of laughter. “It would really set off those pretty eyes of yours, Potter.” 

“Why are you giving him ideas?!” Harry cried, emerald eyes flashing as he focused his attention on Blaise.

“Trust me,” he continued, jerking a thumb in Draco’s direction. “This one does not _need_ ideas!” 

“I mean, you do have billiard-table-green eyes,” Ron pointed out with a grin.

“I’m going to get one for the flat,” Draco announced to no one in particular as Harry ground out: 

“Shut. Up. Ron. He doesn’t need encouragement, either.” 

Harry’s statement was cut off by a positively uncharacteristic burst of laughter from Hermione, who was struggling to keep her drink in her mouth. 

“Hermione, please. Do share!” Blaise turned to her with an interested quirk of his brow and Harry humphed and glowered at us all from his usual position snuggled into Draco’s side. 

“I was just…” she gasped, having managed to swallow her sip, still laughing so hard tears were streaming out the corners of her eyes.

“I was just imagining us showing up at the flat one day,” she tried again, little giggles still interrupting her every now and again. 

“And there’s… there’s just this massive billiards table sat right in the middle of the room,” she continued, gesturing with her hands to indicate a giant table. 

“But there are no cues, or balls, or _anything,_ and so we ask how are we supposed to play, and Draco just casually says, ‘Oh, that’s just for buggering Harry on’,” she finished, collapsing in giggles and leaning against Ron, and Harry groaned as laughter rose up from our table once more. 

“I hate you all,” he informed us, burying his face into Draco’s side. 

“Oh, come, now, Harry,” Draco reasoned, reaching an arm around him and pulling him close. “You know that’s not true. You love us.” 

“You’re lucky you’re so damned good-looking,” Harry grumbled, straightening and pulling his pint towards him. 

“I’m lucky I’m a lot of things,” Draco replied demurely. 

“Especially the modest part,” Ron quipped, draining the remainder of his pint. 

“You know, I was just telling Harry the other day how much I pride myself on that!” Draco exclaimed, face lighting up into an exaggerated smile of surprise. 

“Seriously, though, how are we all doing?” he asked, eyes flicking around at the empty and nearly empty glasses before us. “Ready for another round? This one’s on me.” 

“So…” Blaise began immediately as soon as Draco and Harry had left. “That had to have been really weird… you know… Lucius Malfoy at the Burrow for Samhain?”

“What was he like?” I asked wincing. “I’m so sorry. That had to have put a damper on things.”

“Actually,” Ron replied slowly. “It wasn’t bad at all. It was almost funny….” 

“Yeah,” Hermione chimed in. “I mean, he was… exactly how you’d expect, but I think it was the combination of him being so outnumbered, and realising that we were all thriving, and… living our lives. 

“Seeing Draco just absolutely beaming at Harry,” she added with a smile and one-shouldered shrug in our direction because if someone _didn’t_ notice the way Draco stared at Harry as though he were the moon, the stars, and the entire goddamned universe, they had to be blind. 

What was the saying?

Find yourself someone who looks at you the way Draco looks at Harry. 

“Anyway, when Harry came back and told Mum that Azkaban guards had just dropped Lucius off at the Manor and Draco and Narcissa were going to watch him, all alone, Mum wasn’t going to hear any of it,” Ron continued. 

“She and Andromeda Apparated back to the Manor with Harry, and I don’t know much about Andromeda, but Mum had that look on her face that even makes George scared, so we figured they’d be coming back with all three of them in tow.” 

“What are we talking about now,” Harry asked, setting a pint down in front of Ron, Blaise and Hermione, while Draco slid one towards me, and another towards Harry, keeping his third for himself.

“Just how my Mum and Andromeda went storming off with that look in their eyes, so we knew they weren’t coming back until they’d convinced Draco and his mum to bring his dad along to be babysat,” Ron replied, taking a sip. 

“Oh, yeah,” Draco nodded, glancing at Ron warily. “Your mum’s a bit… scary when she’s angry.” 

“Unfortunately, I’m well aware,” Ron assured him with a shudder, and it dawned on me, as I tried to imagine Ron’s mum in a fit of rage, that I wasn’t even sure I’d seen her before.

“Well,” Ron shrugged thoughtfully after I’d mentioned this. “She’s got ginger hair….”

He stopped and rolled his eyes as we sniggered and snorted with laughter around him. 

“You don’t say, Weasley?” Draco gasped. 

“I mean, come on,” Ron protested. “She could’ve been the one non-ginger in the family. Like how your mum’s the only blonde in hers.” 

“True,” Draco conceded, and I remembered how he used to spell his hair black after the war, making such a striking contrast, with his pale skin and stormy eyes, I honestly couldn’t have told you which colour suited him better.

“Draco used to dye his hair black,” I piped up.

“Really?” Hermione turned to him, intrigued. “When? Why?”

“Just after the war,” he answered, sipping his pint. “I wasn’t so keen on the platinum hair then, for some reason.”

“Why’d you stop?” Harry asked, eyes raking over his boyfriend as though trying to imagine him with dark hair. 

Draco paused for effect. 

“Because French men _really_ like blonds,” he replied finally with a smirk and Harry groaned, resting his forehead in his palm.

“Why am I even surprised?” he asked, looking up at us exasperatedly. “I should know better by now, but still I’m here, hoping he’s going to give me something deep and profound…”

“I can give you something deep...” Draco began, not missing a beat before Harry clamped a hand over his mouth and glared at him as the rest of burst out laughing, Ron actually dribbling some of his lager out of his mouth, which, I noticed he cleared away with a surreptitious wave of his hand. 

Harry had now turned his glare to each of us in turn, hand still clamped firmly over his boyfriend’s mouth, Draco also laughing so hard he was nearly crying. 

“Couldn’t have said it better myself,” Potter,” he snorted once Harry finally released him. 

“Oh, come on, Harry. Don’t be salty,” he reasoned as Harry made a show of sitting up straight and crossing his arms, pouting at some far corner of the room. 

“It’s not like everyone at this table doesn’t know _exactly_ why we started hooking up.” 

“I don’t,” Blaise cut in.

“Why was it again, Harry?” he asked innocently. 

“Because I’m the Boy Wonder and I deserve the absolute best,” Harry shot back, nestling back into Draco’s side as he took a gulp from his pint. 

Draco started a bit then smiled a sweet, pleased little smile at Harry’s offhand compliment.

“You certainly do, love,” he agreed, leaning over to kiss Harry’s temple and I just about melted. 

“Merlin, could the two of you be any more adorable?” I wondered aloud, resting my chin in my palm and batting my eyes at them.

“Honestly, do the two of you practise this kind of lovely in front of the mirror?” 

“Only for, like, an hour or so,” Harry replied immediately, with a casual little shrug and I’d be lying if I said it took me a second to realise he was joking.

“Harry,” Blaise groaned as his shoulders shook with laughter. 

“Careful… I mean, surely you realise with this one here,” he gestured at Draco. “You could absolutely be telling the truth.” 

More laughter and I was happily gazing around the table at our new little cosy group of friends when a voice suddenly interrupted. 

“Excuse me, but…” it said hesitantly from behind Blaise, and I froze, turning towards the owner, thanking my fucking Slytherin upbringing so I knew my horror was masked.

I knew that voice.

That accent.

“Do I know you from somewhere? You look so familiar.” 

Ben.

He was standing between Blaise and Ron, staring across the table at Draco with that sort of narrowed stare you use when trying to figure out how you know someone.

Blaise and I glanced at each other, then at Draco.

Not that we should have worried. 

Draco, ever the professional, hadn’t even flinched, right arm still casually slung around Harry’s shoulders, head tilted in Ben’s direction, eyes flickering over him in a perfunctory, almost disdainful manner.

“Couldn’t say,” he replied with a shrug, lifting his pint to his lips to take another sip, attention already turned back to Harry. 

“No, but…” Ben seemed oblivious to the fact that he was persona non fucking grata. 

I mean, really. 

Sure, all of us Slytherin-types were good at hiding our emotions and all that shit. 

But Draco? 

Bloody master, that one.

This was Ben.

_Ben._

The man Draco had met when he’d been sent to Boston for some mystery assignment and I’d tagged along to gain some insight into the American wizard legal system as our British one finally heaved itself out of the Middle Ages and decided we ought to set one up for ourselves. 

Right.

Back to Ben. 

Fucking Ben. 

The man he’d spent three goddamned years of his life with.

The man he’d adored.

The man he’d credited with teaching him to let his guard down, and love, and discover that he could be happy… that he _deserved_ to be happy. 

The man he’d wanted to marry and spend the rest of his life with.

And then he’d gone fucking nutters when Draco had told him he was a wizard and then Draco had had to Obliviate him.

Could you imagine?

Having to Obliviate yourself and every moment you shared out of someone’s life? 

“I’m sorry, but I swear we gotta know each other from somewhere. 

“I mean, you just look so familiar…

“And… trust me, you do _not_ have one of them faces.” 

“I’m sorry,” Harry cut in before Ben could continue babbling or Draco could reply. 

“But, who are you?” 

And, oh, if I tried to lie and tell you that Potter, getting all possessive, practically hissing with his little kitten hair all but rising _wasn’t_ just fucking hot but a bit scary and somehow adorable all at the same time, you’d be an idiot for believing me. 

“I’m sorry,” Ben seemed to realise immediately that he was in some kind of danger. 

Smart boy. 

“I’m not tryin’ nothing. I see what you two are. 

“It’s just… he looked too familiar, and it was bugging me, so I wanted to try and find out. I’m not lookin’ to take what’s yours… not that kinda guy.” 

“You’re from Boston, are you?” Harry asked, looking much more relaxed now. “I recognise the accent.”

“Yeah,” Ben conceded with a nod. 

“I lived in Boston for a bit,” Harry continued. “So did he. Maybe that’s where you know him from?”

“Oh,” Ben paused and nodded. “Yeah. 

“Man, that would’ve been ages ago. Would explain why I’m having trouble placing ya.” 

“Almost another lifetime, one could say.” 

Draco’s comment came off as bored and crafted to send our surprise visitor on his way, but I could read the double-meaning, and again, I marvelled at his skill. 

“In any case, whether we once _knew_ each other or not, it’s of little importance now, but…” Draco paused and lifted his pint towards Ben. 

“I wish you a pleasant evening and a beautiful life.” 

Ben let out a small puff of air, somewhere between a sigh and a chuckle.

“Yeah, same.”

He glanced nervously at Harry again.

“Sorry, again,” he mumbled, then turned and disappeared into the crowd. 

Harry immediately snapped his head towards Draco, one brow raised.

“That was weird,” Ron mused. “What do you suppose that was all about?” 

“That was Ben, right?” Harry asked and Draco nodded. 

“Who’s Ben?” Ron frowned. 

“Draco’s Boston boyfriend,” Blaise answered, eyes locked on Draco. “I thought you Obliviated him?”

“I did,” Draco replied, brow furrowed in thought. “Mione, can Obliviate fade?” 

“I don’t know,” she replied shrugging, looking somewhat bewildered. “I’d imagine so. I mean, it’s a very tricky spell.” 

“Your parents,” Ron blurted. “Did theirs fade?” 

“ _What_?” I asked, staring at Hermione. 

Her _parents?_

Am I the only witch or wizard who hadn’t Obliviated someone important?

“Long story _very_ short, it was only to protect them during the war,” she sighed.

“Smart move,” Blaise agreed, and I agreed with an emphatic nod. 

“But when you went to reverse it,” Draco continued hesitantly. “Did they… did they recognise you at all, you think? Before you actually reversed it?”

“I-I don’t know,” Hermione stammered. “I mean, it hadn’t even been a full year, and…” she paused and bit her lip as she thought.

“I don’t think they even saw me or had a chance to try and register that I might be someone they knew before I’d reversed it.

“I mean, this was — I mean, Ben — it was how many years ago?” 

“Three,” Draco answered. “Almost four, really.” 

“Well, I do know that Obliviate is…” Hermione paused and glanced upwards the way she always did when trying to string the bazillion thoughts racing through her mind into a coherent sentence. 

“I hate to make this comparison, but it’s a bit like the Cruciatus, isn’t it?” she looked around at all of us, all staring back at her like bloody idiots, because what did we know about similarities between Obliviate and Cruciatus?

“I mean, you have to _want_ to do it.

“Like, _really_ want to do it. 

“And if you cast it without really wanting to, well…” she trailed off and glanced in the direction in which Ben had disappeared. 

“I suppose it could begin to wear off after a while,” Hermione finished. 

We all gazed in the same direction and saw Ben, talking and laughing in a group very similar to our own, before conversation gradually returned to Samhain and the appearance of all the ghosts, Harry’s parents in particular. 

The evening ended with Harry and Draco making good on their threats to show off baby photos of each other, because, apparently, that was a thing they both collected now.

In the end, we decided the two winning photos were the one of Baby Harry squealing “QUITCH!” as he rode his first broom around the garden with his father and the one of Baby Draco taking that first blissful bite of cake before, in true Draco fashion, glaring accusingly at every adult in the room for holding out on him for an entire year. 

By the time we finally left, several pints later, I’d all but forgotten about Ben. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thoughts, comments, etc are appreciated.
> 
> Short chapter, but... what did we think of Ben's appearance?


	46. Some Texting, a Floo, and Regular Talking , Too

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Fabulous Six tackle their hangovers and questions regarding their night out...

_Saturday Afternoon_

_07 November 2009_

_Blaise’s POV_

“Papa!” Hugo called out, and I forced my eyes open from where I was currently sprawled in my chaise on the enclosed patio, a cosy heating charm in place. 

“I can fly really good, now!” he shouted, all bundled up in his winter robes, zooming around on his new “upgraded” children’s broom that Mamie and Papi Varon had gifted him over Samhain. 

“I’m going to be better than Harry Potter soon!” 

I chuckled and wondered what Hugo would do if I invited the real Harry and Draco over for dinner one night.

He had no idea his papa and Tonton Draco were friends with the famous Quidditch player, which, in little Hugo’s mind, was way more exciting than his being the one who’d defeated Voldemort.

“Great job, _cucciolo_ _,_ ” I encouraged, sitting up and watching, ignoring the daggers the sunlight was stabbing into my eyelids by doing so.

“Should I call him now for a match?” 

“No,” Hugo replied, circling around the apple tree. “Not yet. He’d probably still win.” 

I suppressed a laugh and shared a knowing look with Anaïs as my phone pinged. 

It was Pansy.

_I drank like I was twenty again last night, so my memory is hazy, but remind me… did fucking BEN show up at our table last night?_

I smirked and glanced over at Anaïs.

“Pansy’s finally awake,” I informed her, only slightly jealous of my childless mates who still had the luxury of sleeping in on weekends. 

Of course, I’d already filled my wife in on everything that had happened last night and we’d wondered when Pansy would finally wake up and the frantic texting to dissect what the fuck had happened last night would commence. 

“ _Oh la,”_ she sighed, with a teasing grin in my direction. “ _Bonne chance.”_

 _I was wondering when you’d finally wake up so we could_ _discuss_ , I typed back. 

Because, honestly, Ben showing up last night had been fucking weird. 

And bless Potter and his sweet little friends, thinking, perhaps, Draco had cast a spell such as Obliviate without fucking meaning it. 

Draco didn’t fuck around like that. 

Which was why Pansy and I were worried. 

_Fucking Ben_

_Yes, the nerve,_ I texted back, glancing up to check on Hugo again. 

_What are we doing about it? Have you heard from Draco yet?_

_Pans, it’s barely noon_ _and_ _he got wasted last night,_ I typed, rolling my eyes. _I’m not waking him up._

Because Draco sporting a hangover and roused before he was good and ready to be awake was, honestly, not worth the effort.

Pansy didn’t reply for a minute and I turned my attention back to Hugo, who now had Manon seated on the broom with him, and I lost myself in how damned cute my kids could be when they weren’t antagonising each other. 

My mobile pinged again, and I glanced down to see a screenshot from Pansy.

“Drakey, wake up and meet Blaise and I for lunch to soak up all that alcohol we stupidly drank last night,” she had typed. 

“Fuck. You.”

“Please?” 

“Phone. Off. Bye bitch.” 

_What do you think is going on? Why do you think Ben recognised him?_

_I don’t know. I think that’s what we’re texting about…._

We were both silent for a minute, thinking the same thing.

Was there the slightest chance Draco had cast the spell without wanting to? 

_Of course he_ _meant it when he cast it,_ Pansy reasoned.

 _Of_ _course_

_Have you ever heard of an Obliviate wearing off?_

_Nope,_ I replied. 

How Pansy texted so quickly, I’ll never know. 

_Do you think it’ll keep wearing off?_ I asked, cursing my thumbs, which never seemed large except for when I was trying to text as quickly as my thoughts came. _If he runs into Draco again is he going to remember more?_

 _Potter will kill him_

There was another pause, and I know we were still thinking the same thing. 

_What if he didn’t mean it?_ Pansy finally asked. 

Fuck. 

_Then it was years ago_ _and_ _he’s with Potter now,_ I typed back, knowing Pansy would infer everything that I hadn’t said. 

_He_ _was going to_ _marry Ben._

I let out the breath I’d been holding and stared out at Hugo and Manon, still happily flying around the garden despite their cheeks turning red from the cold. 

I waited about three seconds before turning to Anaïs, who looked as though she already knew what I was going to say. 

“I have to go,” I offered lamely just before I disappeared.

Next second, I found myself smoothly exiting the stairwell of the fire escape into the hallway of Draco’s building. 

Pansy was already there.

***

_Saturday Afternoon_

_07 November 2009_

_Harry’s POV_

“Hey Harry,” Ginny greeted — she was sitting on the sofa in the small house she and Micah rented in Dufftown, an array of makeup bottles, brushes, and a mirror set before her. “What’s up?” 

“Erm…” I reached up and scratched the back of my neck. “I dunno.”

I still didn’t know what to make of last night. 

We’d all stayed at the pub much longer than we usually did, drinking far more than we usually did, Draco and I stumbling out of the taxi and into the building, hands and mouths seeking and fumbling the entire lift ride up followed by that frantic scrabble at the door to find the key and insert it into the lock and open it because neither of us was going to tear our face away from the other to look to do it properly, because, yes, we’d been _that_ sort of drunk.

And maybe it had been mostly my subconscious whispering to my drunken self that I had to keep touching him to make sure he was still there — that he was still mine and I was still his.

Even though, when my eyes had finally blinked open this afternoon, cursing the stupid sunlight shining all too brightly into the room for my bleary, alcohol-sodden brain, I'd had trouble recollecting anything in too much detail, the flashes of lips gliding against skin, of teeth scraping and biting and marking, the frantic slide of skin against skin coupled with the tender spots at my wrists, along my neck, and up my arse that currently toed the line between pleasure and pain, and the tangle of sheets, still stuck to me in spots because we had, apparently, passed out before either of us had thought to wave a hand to perform a simple cleaning spell, all hinted at a good, albeit, rough night had. 

I’d wrinkled my nose and waved my hand to cast a quick spell then, although — my face had screwed up again — a lot of good that did after however many hours of sleep we’d managed to get in. 

I’d sat up and stretched, glancing down at Draco and wincing at the reddish-purple marks dotting his collarbone looking almost like a garish necklace, vivid red scratch marks running down his back, and even a faint bruise around his hipbone where my legs had, apparently, squeezed a little too tightly last night.

Not that Draco couldn’t handle it — he was tough as nails, — but his pale skin made even the teensiest bruise stand out.

I couldn’t help the little snigger that had escaped as I’d imagined the taunting and catcalls I’d get in the locker rooms if I showed up looking the way Draco did now and thought it was a good thing he wasn’t the professional Quidditch player. 

“Harry?” Ginny asked, looking at me expectantly. “Did you Floo by accident?” 

I shook my head.

I’d decided to “go for a run” this afternoon, when, upon trying to rouse Draco, he’d just groaned and humphed and had burrowed so far under the duvet, curling himself into a tiny ball, I could hardly make out where he was under all the fluff of the feather-filled blanket.

Hungover Draco hated waking up and avoided sunlight even more carefully than a vampire, which was unfortunate because Drunk Draco was delightfully adorable and I sort of wished he made an appearance more often. 

And now, here I was, “home” at Grimauld Place, sitting in the reception and staring into the Floo, trying to figure out what I wanted to tell Ginny. 

Sure, it was nice to use a mobile and call or text whenever was convenient, but I’d wanted a good old-fashioned Floo call because I’d wanted to see her, see her reactions and gauge what sort of situation I might be in that way.

And since Draco didn’t have one in his flat….

“Where would I put a floo in here, Harry?” he’d asked when I’d asked to use it once. “I just Apparate to the Manor when I need it.” 

“We went out for pints last night,” I blurted finally, and she nodded, dabbing some makeup onto her face, clearly accustomed to my random way of getting to what was important. 

“You know… me, Draco, Mione, Ron, Pansy, and Blaise,” I continued. 

“Did you have a nice time?” she asked, still dabbing at her face, although her blue eyes slid over to me so I knew she was paying attention. “What’d Pansy and Blaise think of all the shit that went down at Samhain? Did either of them do that ceremony and have ghosts come visit as well?”

I shook my head.

“Micah says ‘Hi’,” Ginny continued, and Micah came bounding into the room seconds later.

“Hi Harry!” she grinned, then frowned. “Is Draco there, too?”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I teased. “Didn’t mean to disappoint you, ringing without my boyfriend.”

To say that Micah and Draco had bonded over the long weekend was putting it mildly.

_“I_ _really_ _like Micah,” Draco had announced as he, Hermione, Ron, and I lazed beneath one_ _of the trees_ _in the garden Sunday afternoon, watching as Micah and Ginny swung gnomes over the fence, and I remembered how I'd enjoyed my first de-_ _gnoming_ _years ago._

_“Can we adopt her?”_

_“She’s twenty-eight, Draco,” Hermione had replied, frowning. “I don’t think she needs to_ _be adopted_ _by anyone.”_

_Draco had just blinked at her for a second, then looked back at me._

_“So… can we?”_

_“Erm, sure,” I’d conceded,_ _having no idea_ _what Draco was talking about. “Why not?”_

_“Yay.”_

_And he’d smiled his adorable, little satisfied smile, and I was glad I’d_ _decided to_ _let him adopt Micah, whatever the fuck that meant._

_Apparently, he and Micah spoke the same language, because later that day, when he’d announced that he’d adopted her, Micah had squealed with delight and all but leapt into Draco’s arms._

_“Is ‘adopt,’ like, American for marrying, or something?” George had asked._

_Ginny and I had glanced at each other and shrugged._

_“I suppose we ought to just be glad our two people get along,” she’d mused as Draco and Micah continued to squeal and twirl around the room, adoption now complete, or whatever._

“Oh, shut up, Harry,” Micah retorted. “You know I love you and your stupid face just as much as I love Draco’s.” 

“So,” Ginny cut in, beginning to brush some shadow on her lids. “What’s wrong? Why are you Flooing? Did you and Draco have a row?”

“No,” I replied. “But… at the pub last night, erm… Ben showed up. He’s Drac…” 

“What the fuck?” Micah interrupted. 

She and Ginny were both sitting up straight, full attention on my face in the Floo.

“I thought Draco Obliviated him,” Ginny added, leaning towards me, make-up set aside for the time being. 

“I didn’t know you knew about Ben,” I said, frowning.

“We were talking about coming out to our Muggle partners and he came up,” Ginny informed me. 

“Oh.” 

For some reason it bothered me he’d talked to them about Ben.

What else had he told them?

Draco and I had never really had a conversation about Ben, and why would we?

I didn’t need to know the full details of all of his past relationships, and I knew he’d had a few. 

I knew he’d dated a gorgeously suave Muggle he’d met in Paris named Etienne just after the War, and that he’d brought him back to London to live in the flat he’d shared with Blaise and Pansy. 

His first serious relationship, if you will, and yet, any mention of Etienne didn’t phase me. 

I knew about another bloke named Liam that he’d been serious about just a year or two ago, who had also shared this same flat with Draco, probably filling a very similar daily roll in his life to the one I now did.

They didn’t bother me the way Ben did — there was something about Ben that always seemed to hint that he was “the one that got away.” 

And who in their right mind would ever want to hear about their current partner’s “one that got away?” 

And, to be honest, that’s probably what was bothering me the most about the whole Ben situation.

That nagging little voice that always popped up whenever Ben, or Boston, or anything that made me think of either.

The little voice that constantly whispered:

“ _But what if he hadn’t had to Obliviate him? They’d still be together, probably. Does Draco wonder what could have been? Does he miss him sometimes? Even just a_ _little bit_ _? How do you compare, Harry?”_

“What did he do?” Micah asked, brow furrowing. “What did _you_ do?” 

“I mean, he was typical Draco,” I replied. “Didn’t even flinch and just looked him over and said he didn’t think so.

“I didn’t even realise who he was, except he didn’t leave and then I picked up on the accent.”

“He was trying to pull Draco when you were sitting right there?” Ginny asked. “I hate that. It’s so rude.”

“No,” I frowned. “I mean, maybe that’s what he came over to do but I asked him who the hell he was and he said he was just trying to figure out why Draco looked familiar.

“He said that Draco didn’t have one of those faces that just _looks_ familiar,” I added with a grin.

Because Merlin, was Ben right about that. 

There was no mistaking Draco for any other blond — at least in my mind.

And, apparently, Ben’s Obliviated one. 

“And then what?” Ginny asked. “He just left you alone?”

“I asked if he was from Boston and told him maybe he knew Draco from there, and then he left.” I clarified. “I don’t know… I suppose he thought it was a reasonable explanation.” 

“He’s bloody gorgeous,” I added. 

“Of course he is,” Ginny replied, turning back to her mirror and beginning to apply mascara, then paused, glancing back at me, her little eyelash wand paused mid-stroke.

“Don’t tell me you’re worried,” she sighed, dropping the mirror and mascara wand. “You know damned well you’re gorgeous, too.” 

“I’m not… that kind of gorgeous,” I mumbled. 

Because fuck Merlin, Ben was _gorgeous_. 

Honestly, I hadn’t been able to stop myself from giving him a cursory glance, even as he’d tried to pull Draco. 

Sandy blond hair, dark blue eyes, a jawline that could slice fucking paper, and something that just hinted at a little bit of danger in that sort of Boston way that left me no doubt that Ben had grown up in Southie, even if his accent hadn’t been a dead giveaway. 

And then there’d been the v-neck and jeans he’d opted to wear that only accentuated what, far as I could tell, was a perfect body. 

It honestly hadn’t bothered me too much last night, happily numbed by several pints, but today all I’d been able to think about was how bloody gorgeous Ben was and imagine the two of them rolling around in the sheets — which, honestly, under different circumstances — would have been hot as fuck and quite enjoyable. 

But then my brain began to toss me images of Draco being sweet to Ben. 

Pressing sweet kisses to his forehead and pulling him close.

Holding him. 

Loving him.

I didn’t like those images as much. 

I was interrupted from my reverie by Micah laughing out loud.

“Not that kind of gorgeous?!” she demanded, eyes darting between Ginny and me. 

“Harry’s clueless,” Ginny replied, returning to her mascara. 

“Does Draco need to get some of those wizard mirrors that are brutally honest?”

Ginny snorted, and I shook my head.

“Draco’s got tons of mirrors,” I assured her. 

“Haz,” Ginny sighed, setting her makeup down again. “You know Draco’s absolutely mad for you — I mean, you’ve seen the way he looks at you, right?” 

“I know that,” I sighed. “I guess… I mean… he had to Obliviate him, right?” 

Micah and Ginny nodded.

“I guess… what’s bothering me… is that…” I paused and bit my lip, not knowing how to spit this out.

Rather, I didn’t want to.

Somehow, saying it out loud made it more real.

“If he hadn’t Obliviated him, maybe they’d still be together,” I blurted finally, shoving a hand through my hair.

There was a brief pause, then Micah piped up:

“Yeah, and if my ex weren’t a manipulative bitch, we’d probably still be together, too.”

“And if _my_ ex weren’t a giant cockslut, and if _I_ hadn’t forced us to have that awkward conversation about us both preferring our same gender sexually, _we_ might still be together, too.” 

I rolled my eyes at both of them.

“Look, I know it’s weird and awkward, but have you just, I dunno, _asked_ Draco about it?” Ginny asked. 

“Like, just asked him what his take on the whole situation is, and if it might have opened up any sort of ‘what if’ feelings for him?”

I shook my head.

“No, we all got a bit sloshed last night,” I admitted. “He’s home right now, probably still buried beneath the duvet.” 

“Well, then, my advice would be to talk to him about it,” Ginny said. “Because we both know how much you love talking about awkward things.” 

Speaking of awkward things… there was another issue that had been bothering me, and while it wasn’t linked solely to Draco’s past with Ben, his showing up last night and the subsequent visuals my brain had decided to start feeding me this morning certainly hadn’t helped. 

“What is it, Harry?” Ginny asked, putting down her mascara and giving me her full attention once more. “What’s really bothering you?” 

I was rubbish at hiding anything from anyone, but especially Ginny. 

“Just blurt it out,” she advised, knowing that I was struggling with what to say. 

“DidyouknowDracowasn’talwaysatop?” I mumbled. 

Ginny frowned for a second, then shook her head.

“No,” she replied, finally. “We didn’t exactly get to his detailed sexual past and preferences over breakfast last Saturday.” 

“Wow… you deciphered that?” Micah asked, looking impressed. 

“When Harry and I were hashing out our feelings, he spoke almost entirely in ‘Harry Mumble’,” Ginny informed her with an almost affectionate eye-roll and smile in my direction. 

“I’m practically fluent at this point.” 

“So, Haz, lovey,” Ginny turned back to me. “Am I correct in guessing that maybe you’re a little worried that Draco might not want to top all the time?” 

I paused for a second, then nodded quickly, almost shyly, studiously avoiding her gaze. 

“And… how would you feel about that?” she asked, going back to her make-up because she knew if she didn’t _look_ at me, I’d be less embarrassed. 

“Fine, I guess,” I replied honestly. “I mean… obviously, I sort of prefer, you know… kind of always end up on the bottom, but…” 

“You’d make an exception for him?” Ginny asked.

“Put in your best effort?” Micah chimed in with a little wink in my direction. “Give it your best shot?” 

“Try your hardest?” 

Ginny smirked at me, then went back to sifting through what looked like an unnecessary amount of lipsticks and glosses. 

“I mean, it’s not like it would be a huge hardship or I would be put out,” I huffed. “I’m not _completely_ against topping.

“I just… think the results would be better if it happened only when I was… in the mood.” 

Which, honestly, _did_ happen, just not… often. 

Like, _maybe_ a few times a year, often…. 

“Aha,” Ginny cut in, selecting a little tube from the array before her so that I wasn’t quite sure if she was talking to me or triumphant about having selected her shade for the evening. 

“So, you’re worried that, maybe, you’re not in the mood as often as he might want you to be?” 

“Erm… yeah, I guess.” 

Honestly, if I were guessing completely based off of our sexual interactions together, I would never have imagined that Draco bottomed ever.

But there had been hints from conversations and jests from Pansy and Blaise.

And those hints were further supported by the, frankly, ridiculous number of sex toys Draco had hidden around the flat and his rooms at the manor.

And then, there’d been all those memories — the ones he’d seared into my brain during that one punishment where he’d barred me from the bathroom while he soaked and read his stupid book in the tub. 

Those had left no doubt that Draco definitely didn’t mind being fucked once in a while. 

“Well, the way I see it, you’ve got three options,” Ginny was saying, and I shook my head to clear it of the images of Draco pleasuring himself in and on and around the tub and focus on what Gin was saying. 

“Option one — you could not say anything and keep wondering and worry your pretty little head that he’s unsatisfied, or thinks you wouldn’t be interested, or that, maybe, you’re just not ‘top’ material in his mind, or whatever it is you’ve managed to convince yourself of.” 

I scowled at her, because, of course, she’d hit just about every worry on the head. 

“Or you could man up and ask him about it and have another one of those lovely awkward conversations that you love so much,” she continued.

“What’s option three?” I asked hopefully.

Ginny finished applying her lipstick and grinned over at me slyly.

“You could just bend him over his own dining table next time the mood strikes and see what he thinks about that…”

  
  


***

_Saturday Afternoon_

_07 November 2009_

_Ron’s POV_

“Ugh, let’s never go out for pints with that lot unless we’ve remembered to brew a proper Hangover potion ever again,” I groaned, gulping down a glass of water and staring tiredly at my wife, who looked just as miserable as I felt. 

“Agreed.” 

She looked like she was about to say more when my mobile rang and she shook her head tiredly, reaching for my glass to refill it for herself. 

“Gin,” I rasped, picking up the call and wondering why my sister was ringing me. “What’s up?” 

“What happened last night?” she demanded. “Who’s Ben?” 

“Ben?” I asked, frowning, then remembering when that bloke had come over, insisting that he knew Draco from somewhere. 

Merlin, that had been weird. 

Like, honestly, we’ve probably all seen an old pull from across the room, but we all knew better than to go talking to them when they were clearly with someone else, right?

But apparently he was more than just some bloke Malfoy had pulled ages ago and was actually a legit ex who Malfoy had Obliviated... 

“Erm, he’s Malfoy’s ex,” I answered, scratching the back of my head and shutting my eyes, willing the pounding in my head to go away. “Why?” 

Obviously I knew _why_ , but it seemed an easy enough way to get Ginny talking... because I knew she must have just talked to Harry. 

And, sure, Harry hadn’t seemed upset last night, but we’d all had many pints by the time Ben had shown up, and then several more after that. 

In the harsh, sobering light of the morning after, it dawned on me that it had probably been very disquieting for Harry to be confronted with his boyfriend’s ex like that. 

I mean, sure, he’d said he was just trying to place Draco, but it’d been pretty obvious he’d come over hoping to do more than just talk to Malfoy. 

“Harry just Floo-ed,” she informed me, confirming my suspicions. 

“He’s got himself all worked up, convinced Draco’s wondering ‘what if’ and wishing he and ex-lover-boy were still a thing.” 

I groaned as I slumped onto the sofa, Hermione glancing at me curiously as she curled up in the armchair across from me, glass of water clutched in her hands as though it were the most precious object she’d ever held. 

“Gin,” I sighed. “You and Micah should go out and enjoy being young while you can. Once you get old like me, you won’t be able to handle the morning after anymore.”

“We’re an entire year younger than you, idiot,” she shot back before launching right back in.

“So Harry wasn’t upset last night? What happened? I want to hear someone else’s take on it.”

I frowned for a moment, then retold her my version of what had happened, including my opinion that Ben ‘only wanting to talk’ to Draco was absolute bollocks. 

“Do you think Draco cast the spell reluctantly, then?” Hermione piped up having pieced together what was going on. 

“I dunno,” I replied. 

“Hang on, Gin,” I instructed. “I’m putting you on speaker. Mione’s here.” 

“Hermione, what do you think?” she asked. 

“I mean, Harry’s really upset… not, like, angry-upset, but… upset. And now he’s convinced he’s not right for Draco and letting all his little insecurities come out… you know how he can get.” 

“Convinced he’s not right for Draco?” Hermione repeated with a cackle of laughter. “Merlin, both those boys are blind sometimes… 

“Honestly, I don’t think Draco would cast _any_ spell without absolutely meaning it,” she continued thoughtfully. “I don’t think it’s in his nature. 

“I mean, obviously, he loved Ben,” she went on, “And would have been hurt by Ben’s reaction to discovering he’s a wizard, but he would have also realised that Ben was, essentially, not accepting _him,_ and I think that would have been the end, full stop, for Draco.

“He’s really good at separating his emotions from his needs and wants like that,” she mused, smiling over at me, finally looking a tad more like her normal self. 

“I wonder what that would be like,” I mused, causing all three women to laugh at me. 

“I’m sorry, Ron,” Ginny giggled. “I’m really not any better at it, but you definitely don’t separate your emotions from anything.

“Anyway, Ben really proved himself a bloody wanker when he went all religious on Draco for being a wizard, in my opinion.”

“I agree!” I heard Micah call out from another room. “Can you believe he tried to fling holy water on Draco? The fucking _lunatic_!”

“Why were you asking _me_ about Ben?” I demanded. “Clearly you both knew more about him than I ever did.” 

“I’m sorry,” Hermione interjected with a disbelieving shake of her head. “Ben did _what?”_

 _“_ What’s holy water?” I asked, glancing at Hermione. 

“Merlin, Ron, I forget how wizard you are,” she chuckled. 

“It’s water that’s been blessed by a priest, mainly in the Catholic church… you know, one of the main Muggle religion branches,” Hermione explained, seeing my confused look. 

“It’s supposed to bless people and the physical church as well as ward off evil and anything related to the devil, like witches and….”

“Let me get this straight,” I interrupted, shaking my head and regretting it instantly as my headache surged back full force. 

“There are Muggles who believe that some random person can _bless_ water, and then said water can just ward off evil, like… like bloody _magic_?!

“And… and… this idiot that Draco was dating found out _he_ was magic, and so used the fake water magic to ward off Draco’s _real_ magic?

“Bloody mental, some of you Muggles are, sometimes.” 

I glanced at Hermione, then at my mobile — as though Gin and Micah could see me — just to make sure I was understanding this logic correctly. 

“Yup,” I recognised Micah’s voice. “That idiot fucked up, and I, personally, will be damned if he gets in the way of Draco and Harry.”

Micah paused for a second.

“Sorry,” she said a bit sheepishly. “I know I don’t know the guy, but I can’t help but think he’s an utter tool.

“I mean, yeah, it’s a fucking shock to find out your partner’s a witch or wizard — and that witches and wizards and magic are all _real_ , not gonna lie, but it’s like any other curveball a relationship throws at you… you fucking decide whether you love the person enough to work through it or you don’t.

“Ben clearly decided that he didn’t, end of story. 

“He doesn’t get to go and decide he wants Draco again because his memory’s coming back and he realises he made a mistake.”

I’ll admit, I was impressed by her speech and I grinned over at Hermione.

“Gin, this one’s a keeper,” I told my sister, just in case she hadn’t figured it out yet. 

“I know,” she replied, and I could hear a big smooch land on Micah’s cheek. “But we’re not talking about me and Micah.”

“What did you tell Harry?” Hermione asked curiously. “I mean, how did he seem when he left?”

“Better,” Ginny replied. “But… he’s Harry, and he’ll probably have worked himself back up by the time he gets back to the flat or as soon as Draco… I dunno… accidentally ignores him in his haste to get a glass of water to chase his hangover or something.”

“Well, why don’t you send him a text in a bit to see how he’s doing, or remind him that Draco adores him, and it’s obvious,” Hermione suggested.

“You know I would, but it’s probably better Harry not know we’ve just spent the past half-hour discussing his relationship….” 

***

_Saturday Afternoon_

_07 November 2009_

_Harry’s POV  
  
_

After hanging up with Ginny and Micah, I’d decided to laze about Grimmauld Place for a bit, finding the familiarity of the place comforting as I reflected on my relationship with Draco. 

It was hard to believe we’d only been living together for a little over a month, and that we’d been exclusively dating for only three. 

It felt like much longer, and in a good way. 

Getting to know the real Draco and all of his idiosyncrasies while letting my own carefully constructed walls drop was, probably, the most exhilarating thing I’d ever experienced — yes, even more so than Quidditch. 

And the way he’d consoled me after my family had left on Samhain had been so beautifully tender that my heart _still_ melted because who would have ever guessed that Draco fucking Malfoy would be so natural at being gentle and comforting?

Because I’ll be honest.

I’d been difficult to be around of late.

I’d been glum and morose all week, and, honestly, last night's drunken fumblings had been the first sex we’d had since that mortifying episode where Narcissa had walked in on us once again and I’d almost been glad that Lucius had been there because, well, it had certainly made me laugh about being caught bent over the bannister overlooking the massive entry hall of Malfoy Manor. 

I’d just not been in the mood. 

The first few days back at the flat had been particularly rough — just trying to deal with the emotional toll of spending one blissful evening with my parents, Sirius, and Remus only to have to say goodbye, not knowing if I would ever see them or be able to share a part of my life with them ever again. 

The real clincher had been when my dad had pulled me aside once we’d noticed the sky turning light and knew our time together was drawing to a close.

_“It’s been so incredible being able to spend time with you and get to know you, Harry,” he’d said, and next second, I’d felt the icy touch of his ghostly hand trace along my temple._

_His little smirk had reappeared, and, I'd had to admit, after an entire night in his presence, I was_ _beginning to understand_ _why people called my_ _own_ _smile impish._

_“And you’ve made your mum and I so proud,” he’d continued. “Of you, all that you’ve done since Hogwarts. Your relationship with Draco…”_

_“My relationship with Draco?” I’d echoed, frowning in bewilderment._

_I mean, yes, it’d been wonderful having that experience of introducing my boyfriend to my family, and_ _it was clear that_ _my parents, Sirius, and Lupin all liked Draco, but I hadn’t expected ‘proud’ as a sentiment on their end._

 _“_ _Of course,”_ _Dad had replied, smile turning melancholic once more._ _“_ _It’s the truest sign of growing up_ _, in my opinion_ _._

 _“_ _Allowing someone to see that most vulnerable, raw part of you — the_ real _you — all of your flaws, and let them love you_ _, nonetheless,_ _and inspire you to be a better person._

“ _That was your mum for me._

_“And I see that in you and Draco.”_

Draco had been nothing but a fucking gentleman all week, too. 

Hadn’t even mentioned or hinted at feeling put out, and had even gone out of his way to hold me and hug me and let me know that, in some way, he understood what I was going through and that he was there for me, no matter what. 

Just a few nights ago, we’d been relaxing in the reception, Draco engrossed in his research, as usual.

He’d been sitting on the sofa facing the telly and the windows opposite while I was curled up and staring out the window at the bleary grey of London in the winter on the one perpendicular.

I’d started when I’d felt Draco’s arms wrapping around me and drawing me close, mouth pressing a gentle kiss just above my ear.

I hadn’t even realised I’d been crying. 

“I’m sorry,” I’d mumbled into his neck, tears falling freely now. “I didn’t mean to distract you again.” 

“Harry,” he’d sighed, pulling me even closer somehow. 

“You’re not a distraction,” he’d assured me. “My research can wait.”   
  


***

_Saturday Afternoon_

_07 November 2009_

_Harry’s POV_

It was nearly four o’clock, and I’d been back at the flat for a few hours now, having finally sort of convinced myself that what Draco and I had was special and whatever he’d had with Ben could go fuck itself.

Of course, my heart had nearly split in two when I’d first Apparated home because Draco wasn’t there, and so I’d consoled myself by slumping down on the sofa to watch the telly. 

But the telly wasn’t quite doing its job to distract me anymore, and I was now curled up and staring out the window again, not even paying attention to what was happening on the screen. 

I couldn’t have even told you what I was watching. 

“Harry?” Draco’s voice called me away from the fascinating scenery of raindrops tracing their way down the windowpane and I glanced up, forcing what I hoped was a cheerful smile. 

“Hi,” I chirped, sitting up a little straighter, watching as Draco neatly unwound his scarf and shrugged off his coat, hanging both on the stand just beside the door.

His eyes never left mine, and his expression told me I wasn’t doing a very good job of appearing nonchalant and unbothered. 

“How are you?” 

“Erm… good,” I replied, straightening even more. “Fine.” 

He was walking across the reception now, eyes still locked on mine, and one brow raised in a silent question. 

“I meant it, you know,” he stated cryptically, and I frowned.

“Meant what?” 

“.. I meant it when I cast it,” he informed me, taking a seat beside me on the sofa, drawing his left leg up so he could turn and face me. 

I just blinked back at him, unsure how to respond.

“Oh, erm…” I stammered, eyes darting to glance at the space between us. 

“Harry,” he sighed, leaning his left side into the back of the sofa and smiling softly up at me. 

“There’s an erumpent in the room and his name is Ben.

“Did you want to talk about it now? Or did you want to try straightening up a bit more and pretending you’re fine?” 

I groaned and gave up all pretense, slumping forward into him. 

“I’m so terrible at that,” I confided, and Draco chuckled, arms wrapping around me, and I immediately buried my face into his neck, inhaling the layers of sandalwood, rose, and the delicious smell that was just him. 

“No offence, Harry,” he replied, tracing patterns up and down my back. “But… yeah, you are.” 

“It’s just, well, I know you loved him,” I began, glancing up hesitantly as Draco immediately pulled back and frowned. 

“Well, of course, I did,” he agreed.

“I mean, Harry, honestly,” he chuckled a bit. “I feel as though you ought to be more concerned if you’d somehow ended up dating a man who’d spent nearly three years with someone and had felt absolutely nothing for him…”

“True,” I conceded, because, obviously, that’d be odd and sociopathic-y, to say the least. 

“I guess, it’s… it’s because you _had_ to Obliviate him,” I blurted out, not quite meeting his eyes. “I mean, what if you hadn’t had to?” 

“I don’t see how that’s relevant,” Draco answered, eyes narrowing as he frowned in thought. 

“What do you mean? Of course, it’s relevant,” I shot back, hackles rising slightly. “You might still be together. You might still be in _love_. Don’t tell me you’ve never wondered ‘what if’?” 

“No,” Draco replied immediately, something flashing in those stormy eyes of his. “Never.”

I raised a brow back at him in challenge, because, bullshit, obviously. 

“Harry, I Oblivated him because he couldn’t accept that I was… _am…_ a wizard. He couldn’t accept the very core of what I am, my key identity, really.

“I mean, surely you can relate?” he continued, eyes locked on mine once more. “Who would you be if you were no longer a wizard?

"What would you do if I, for some reason, told you to fuck off and stop being one. 

"As if either of us could...." 

I started, then blanched a little.

Because no longer being a wizard would, honestly, feel like a part of me were missing, at this point. 

And I could only imagine, for someone like Draco, who’d never even experienced a brief part of his life not identifying as one. 

“As far as I’m concerned, Ben couldn’t accept… _refused_ to accept the most essential part of me.

"And I’m not sure if he ever _actually_ loved me, or if it was just the idea of me, but…” 

Draco sighed and shook his head. 

“Harry, he went insane,” he continued, eyes seeking mine again. “He… he threw things, screamed at me, told me I was worshipping the Devil… that I was consorting with the Devil.”

Draco paused to smirk at me knowingly.

“Little did he know, hmm?” he quipped, then paused, a little shudder running through him.

“He even flung water at me… like… this weird Muggle invention where water blessed by another Muggle is somehow magic and gets rid of anything evil?”

Draco paused again.

“I won’t lie — it was awful — it devastated me. 

“I cried, and sulked, and needed some time to get over him, sure, but… I _have_ , I promise you that.

“There is no ‘what if’.” 

I couldn’t help but smile at him then.

“Thank you,” I told him earnestly. “For telling me all this.” 

“He’s bloody gorgeous, Draco,” I blurted out then, and Draco tilted his head back in my direction, raising a brow.

“Of course he is,” he shot back, hand plucking up one of my own and interlacing our fingers. 

“Any bloke lucky enough to date me will, _obviously_ , be gorgeous…” 

Draco paused, then smirked.

“As well as capable of intelligent, witty conversation, and able to suck cock like it were an Olympic sport, and he was going for the gold…

“Now, which one’s got your pretty head worried? I’m sure it’s not the last one,” he finished with a lascivious wink that sent a little thread of desire curling in my stomach. 

“Shut up,” I retorted, yanking my hand from his grasp so I could cross my arms and glare up at him. 

“So witty,” he replied, clasping both hands over his heart, eyes shut in mock rapture. “Scintillating, really.” 

Draco eyes opened and there was something in his gaze then that stopped the snarky reply on my lips. 

“Forget about Ben, or anything he might have once been to me,” he instructed, tugging me gently to straddle his lap, mouth seeking mine. 

“He doesn’t even come close to comparing what I feel for you.” 

And I melted into him as warm hands cupped my face, tongue licking into my mouth, drinking up my groan of surrender as one hand slid around to tangle into my hair and pull me closer while the other slid down to trace along my chest before reaching beneath my jumper to tug it over my head. 

I quickly obliged, encouraging him by vanishing the remainder of our clothing, eager to feel the slick slide of his skin, so warm and fucking soft, like the finest satin, beneath my hands.

I allowed Draco to tumble me backwards onto the couch, his hands firm, yet gentle, almost reverent, as they explored my torso, ran down my sides and reached down to grip my arse, pulling me closer, urging me to arc up into him as his mouth continued to plunder my own, our cocks slipping and grinding against each other as we pushed into each other shamelessly. 

I made an almost embarrassing sound of protest when Draco dragged his mouth from mine and began to press and lick and suck kisses down my neck and torso, each torturous drag of his lips and glide of his tongue against my skin causing me to squirm and moan or gasp as my hands moved to touch and grasp and plead with whatever parts of him I could reach. 

He spent an almost torturous amount of time worshipping first one nipple, head dipping down to press a reverent kiss on my sternum, right near my heart, before moving to the other. 

“Draco,” I begged, legs reaching up to wrap around him, working in tandem with my arms, wrapped around his shoulders, to urge him downward. “ _Please_.” 

Draco ignored me, rising up to capture my mouth again, teeth pulling gently at my bottom lip before sliding that wicked tongue of his between my lips to lick into my mouth once more, plunging and swirling, retreating as I followed and I, as usual, was reduced to incoherent begging almost immediately.

“Draco,” I tried again, head lifting in an attempt to follow him, “Stop being a bloody tease.” 

He didn’t reply.

Just kept licking and sucking and kissing — _adoring_ me, it felt like, mouth and hands working down my torso once more, although I noted, happily, that both were touching and travelling at a much more frenzied pace than they had earlier.

“Ungh,” I cried out, eloquent as always, when he gently teased the length of my cock with his tongue, swirling and sucking gently at the tip. 

“Mmm,” he sighed, grey-blue eyes fluttering open as he leaned in for another suck. 

“I know I’ve teased you in the past…” he began, tongue licking obscene stripes up my cock as he continued, and I squeezed my eyes shut with a groan — of encouragement or protest, I couldn’t say — as Draco continued to tease me with his words and tongue.

“About wanting a Malfoy-flavoured lolly.” 

Lick. Suck. Swirl.

Fuck me. 

“But,” another leisurely lick as his eyes flickered shut and, Merlin, but why was that so bloody hot?

“I rather think I’d prefer they made a Harry-flavoured one,” Draco told me, gently sucking at just the tip of my cock, tongue pressing into the sensitive spot where head met shaft before swirling once more. 

“I’d buy them by the half-dozen, at least.” 

Another lick before he swallowed me down. 

“To keep me satisfied when you’re away for work.” 

Merlin, why was I so lucky? I managed to wonder before Draco began sucking me off in earnest, and I was torn between letting him continue and coming in that sweetly sucking mouth of his or trying to hold out and hope he’d fuck me wide open. 

I mean, if I were _really_ lucky, I’d get both, and I shut my eyes, fingers tangling in his hair as I gave in to encouraging him, hips rising eagerly into his greedy mouth. 

He slurped up and off, suddenly, ignoring my whine of protest, and I was almost embarrassed at how needily my hands reached out for him, only to fall limply at my sides as Draco trailed his hands down my thighs, smirking up at me, mouth deliciously plump and reddened from his attention. 

“Merlin, Harry,” he sighed, hands pressing gently at the backs of my knees, urging my legs to bend up and out. 

“I fucking love you like this,” he told me, eyes focused on me and a slight blush rose in my cheeks and across my chest as I realised there was no doubt exactly which part of my body his gaze was focused on. 

“Spread open, like a fucking feast,” he continued, bending down to give a few gentle swipes of his tongue at my opening, and I couldn’t help but groan, fingers reaching back into his hair, encouraging him to continue licking and swirling.

I gasped when he fastened his mouth to me, tongue sharpening and driving in, and I couldn’t help but push back and beg him to continue. 

Merlin, I thought to myself dazedly as I, practically involuntarily, fucked myself up into Draco’s mouth. 

But Ben had been a fucking idiot to give _this_ up.

The sex alone would have been enough to keep Draco around, nevermind any of the myriad other qualities I’d been discovering that made him the catch of a lifetime. 

“Harry,” he sighed finally, rising up, pressing my thighs open again as he stared down at me, eyes so bloody lust-blown I couldn’t have told you what colour they were. 

“Yes,” I groaned, keenly aware that he hadn’t asked anything. 

I groaned again, arms flinging up to pull him down for a thorough kiss as I felt the head of his cock nudge against my opening, and I eagerly pressed back, urging him in, gasping into his mouth as he continued to slide slowly into me. 

Fuck, but he was taking his time. 

It was almost _too_ slow, and I flung my head back and arched up into him, a stupidly gaspy-groaning noise coming out of me as I did so. 

“Harry…” I barely heard him, it was so quiet.

Not even a whisper, more like an exhalation of breath, a prayer, and I pulled his mouth down towards mine to claim his as my arms and legs wound themselves around his shoulders and waist, pulling him as close as possible. 

It seemed to do the trick because Draco groaned — one of the most beautiful, tortured groans I’d ever heard from him — and his hips began snapping into me, long, sure strokes that left me gasping, my own hips rising to meet his as I threw my head back, moaning as Draco’s mouth latched onto that spot just above my collarbone, knowing my release wouldn’t be far off. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” he groaned suddenly, hips slowing just slightly as he continued to plunge his entire length in and out of me — three long, hard strokes — his eyes sliding shut, a look of utter bliss flitting across his face, before his hips stilled and he all but collapsed on top of me. 

“Fuck, Harry,” he sighed, head burrowing into my neck. “I’m sorry…” 

Before I could even respond, Draco’s mouth was trailing down my body again, the tingling of another cleansing charm rushing through me. 

“Merlin, you have no idea,” I barely heard him mutter, mouth wrapping around my cock once more, and all thoughts of responding in more than groans and enthusiastically tangling my hands in his hair flew from my brain, my orgasm coming far too quickly now that Draco’s mouth was working my cock, and I knew I’d be saving the image of him, eyes snapping open to lock with my own as he swallowed me down one last time, giving one last longing suck before my prick became too sensitive. 

“Harry,” he sighed, crawling back up to wrap his arms around me, and I eagerly snuggled into his chest, burying my face in his neck, slinging one leg up over his hips to pull him even closer. 

“Mmm…” it seemed the only response I could muster right now, sated as I was. 

Draco shifted around a bit and arranged us so that we were both comfortably laying on the sofa, and I lifted my face towards his for another kiss. 

However, my mind couldn’t help thinking back to that other niggling concern I’d talked to Ginny and Micah about earlier today, and I tried to push it aside for another time. 

“Harry?” Draco asked, frowning down at me.

“Hmm?” 

“Tell me,” he sighed, pulling me closer to him with a tiny smile. 

“I’m fi…” I began and Draco pressed a gentle kiss to my mouth.

“What is it?” 

I groaned and buried my face in his neck once more.

I mean, really, how was I supposed to bring this up?

“What?” Draco was pulling back, that delighted smile on his face that I loved so much when it wasn’t aimed at me. 

“What is this _delightful_ blush you’ve got rising in your cheeks here?” 

Draco’s eyes were sparkling with glee and he raised a hand to trace gently along my cheekbones. 

I knew my face had to be flaming because Draco’s fingers felt somewhat cool to the touch, and he usually ran a little warm.

“I…” I tried again, only to groan and buried my face in his shoulder again. 

“I mean, it doesn’t really have anything to do with Ben,” I reasoned, but Draco just rolled his eyes.

“So long as we’re discussing awkward niggles in our relationship, we might as well get it all out in one day, hmm?” 

He was running his fingers through my hair, and my eyes closed involuntarily, because fingers running through my hair…. 

“Harry… let’s talk, hmm?” 

He tilted my head up so he could look me in the eye.

So, naturally, I immediately shifted my gaze downwards.

“I… erm…” 

“Just spit it out, Harry,” Draco advised. 

“I… well…”

“I mean, if you really want, I could read it from your brain,” he offered, and I glared up at him.

“Don’t you dare. You’ve had your one free pass with that with the Dursleys,” I reminded him. 

Draco’s gaze hardened.

“That was different,” he countered, pulling me closer. “That was something that had harmed you and needed to be dealt with. 

“I would never go into your mind for something personal like this.” 

Honestly, I was tempted to tell him to slip into my mind to save me the embarrassment of saying it aloud, but I also didn’t really want to be setting a precedent for future difficult conversations.

“I just… sometimes I wonder if, maybe, erm…” I shut my eyes and took a deep breath.

“If you ever miss not topping?” 

I waited a moment, then sneaked a glance up at him.

He wasn’t looking at me.

He was glancing thoughtfully off to the side, a little smile curving his mouth, and I figured that had to be an okay sign, at least, right?

“What makes you worried about that?” he asked finally, hands threading through my hair as he looked down at me expectantly. 

“I… well, I know you’ve bottomed before, and you still have all the toys, and…” I paused and shrugged. “I just wondered if you wish I’d…”

I paused because I’d come so very close to saying what scared me the most.

“What? Do I wish you’d come at me, eyes blazing, all, I’m-Harry-Potter-Saviour-of-the-World-Fuck-Voldemort and shove me down on the bed and have your way with me?” he asked.

Merlin, but how did he always hit it right on the head.

I nodded, still buried in his neck. 

“No,” Draco said finally, somehow pulling me closer. “I don’t.” 

Another moment.

“Promise?”

Draco’s hand stilled on its path through my hair and he giggled.

 _Giggled._

“Harry,” he managed around another giggle. “Honestly, love, please, consider everything you know about me, my personality, how I operate….”

I nodded, refusing to look up at him, because how the fuck was he _laughing_ right now?

“If I _really_ wanted you to fuck me, don’t you think I’d have let you know somehow?” he asked, sniggering again. 

“You know,” he continued. “In my own, unique, _completely_ subtle way?” 

And I couldn’t help a snigger of my own, because when was Draco ever subtle about something he wanted? 

Draco’s hand was still tangling through my hair, and he gently tugged so that I looked up at him.

“Honestly, I don’t really have much of a preference on my own,” he assured me, frowning, as though thinking this through for the first time himself.

“I really just mainly get off on the other bloke getting off, and I’m not sure I’ve ever had a strong inclination one way or the other…

“Course, I _do_ end up topping quite a lot…” 

I snorted, because, of course, he did. 

He shot me a mock glare before continuing.

“But, really, I just want to watch you come, and if that means I will always be the one fucking you…” 

He paused, eyes sliding shut.

“Merlin, Harry, do you have any idea how fucking gorgeous you are when you come?” 

I didn’t answer and just burrowed further into his neck, hoping the question was rhetorical, because I’d had rather enough blushing for one night, thankyouverymuch. 

“Anyway,” he continued, mercifully. “I love fucking you. I will never, ever tire of fucking you, or get bored fucking you, or feel anything besides ecstatic and lucky to be fucking you.

“However, should you wake up one morning and decide you really want to fuck _me_ into the mattress, I won’t complain, either.” 


	47. Seeing is Believing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sad... I had this chapter almost posted, and then it glitched and BYE! 
> 
> Anyway.
> 
> Draco and Harry finally meet Dudley's adorable (and magical) offspring.
> 
> They will feature quite a bit more in the sequel, but just needed to introduce them to "hook" you.

_Saturday Afternoon_

_21 November 2009_

_Harry’s POV_

I admit I’ve never been to a fancy dinner party.

Never really been to an un-fancy dinner party, either, unless the extremely laid-back affairs at Ron and Hermione’s counted.

Sure, I’d seen Aunt Petunia bustling around the kitchen before I got banished to my room on a few occasions.

But this was my first time participating in one.

And, well, hosting one, I suppose, although Draco was doing all the work, and I’d been… well… banished to “my” sofa in the reception to watch telly and drink a glass of wine. 

Also, according to Draco, this was not a _fancy_ dinner party. 

I almost shuddered to think what would have constituted a fancy dinner party in the Malfoy household. 

“Are you sure I can’t help with something?” I called again. 

Draco appeared in the kitchen doorway.

“Well,” he drawled, sipping his own glass of wine and I sat up eagerly, glad to be of use, or soon to be, anyway. 

“I’m making chicken fricassée and serving it with celeriac gratin with a simple goat cheese and beet salad to start…,” he paused and swirled his glass, smirking over at me.

“What did you want to help with?” 

I didn’t even know what chicken fricassée _was_. 

“I could help chop the veg for the salad and the… whatever that word is you keep saying after chicken that we’re eating.”

I frowned.

“You aren’t making something fancy, are you?” I asked, even though Draco had assured me a dozen times that he was keeping it simple.

On second thought, I probably should have asked him what his idea of simple was earlier. 

“Chicken fricassée is, probably, amongst the most simple and hearty of all French dishes,” he assured me. “I just have no idea what it’s called in English.

“It’s…” he paused and frowned in thought. “It’s chicken, or, you know, whatever meat you want, that’s sautéed and then braised in…” 

He paused, catching sight of my face, and rolled his eyes again, taking another sip of wine.

“Let’s just call it a stew that’s sautéed in a saucepan instead of boiled in a pot?” 

“Okay,” I agreed, thinking that it did sound particularly comforting for winter. “So I could help you chop the veg, then.”

“Oh, no, Potter,” he argued with a chuckle, holding up his hands in protest. “I’ve seen the way you chop ingredients for potions. You’re not coming anywhere near the veg in my kitchen.” 

“But…” I began, knowing I was pouting and acting petulant. 

Draco floated his wineglass to set gently on the table as he crossed the reception, one arm reaching out to wrap solidly around my waist, the other reaching up so he could cup my face in his palm. 

“You really want to help, hmm?” he asked, leaning down to gently brush his lips against my own.

“Mm-hmm,” I nodded, biting my lip and not quite meeting his gaze. 

I don’t know why it was so bloody important to help out, but it was. 

“Merlin, you’d think it was your first dinner party, or something,” Draco chuckled, pulling me in for another kiss. 

“It… it is,” I stammered and Draco drew back immediately.

“Really?” 

I nodded.

“I mean, I’ve had friends over and vice versa, but, honestly, we’ve usually just ordered take-away, or tried to cook something together, but I’ve never thrown a dinner party like this or anything,” I added hastily. 

He rolled his eyes again and started back towards the kitchen, tugging gently on my hand. 

“Come on, then.” 

“It already smells wonderful,” I told him, breathing in the savoury scent of the chicken stock simmering on the stove. 

When I’d first moved in, I’d assumed that Draco’s pristine kitchen, with its sleek white lines and stainless appliances, was mostly for show.

I was wrong.

Draco _loved_ to cook. 

And he was pretty damned good at it, too, so long as he was allowed to use magic.

Any Muggle that he’d dated, apparently, thought he was a hilarious mess in the kitchen, because without the use of magic to help stir and chop and keep foods warm under stasis charms, Draco was, apparently, just as clueless as I was — he’d tried to cook me a meal “Muggle-style” once to prove his point, and we’d both ended up collapsed in giggles as the steak burned and the veg got cold and the potatoes had turned into lump-hard, dry bricks, and had ended up ordering take-away. 

However, with the ability to use magic firmly in place, Draco could whip up meals from a simple fry-up for breakfast to a veritable culinary delight that would have been right at home in any restaurant I’d ever been to. 

A cleaver was busily chopping two whole chickens into serve-able portions and I could see a pie tray in the oven. 

I went to investigate, but Draco cleared his throat and held out two onions, two carrots, and two celery stalks.

“You can dice these,” he instructed, gesturing at a second cutting board and knife that were floating across the kitchen to a bare space on the counter. 

“It’s for the mirepoix… basically the Holy Trinity of French cooking,” he explained, seeing my confused expression. “So they need to be diced, carefully, into fairly even pieces. 

“Obviously, they don’t need to be perfect, but the distribution of taste and the aesthetic look of the dish is vastly improved if they’re the same size.

“Just pretend you’re dicing the sloth brain for the Draught of the Living Death like you did in Sixth Year, and you’ll be fine,” he added with a smirk.

Because, of course, he knew I’d had Snape’s help to thank for my Potions success that year. 

I sidled up to the counter and began dicing the onion first, smiling gratefully over at Draco as he floated a bowl over to me.

“They’ll be added at the same time, so you can just put them all in there.” 

Draco returned to a large pile of knobbly looking roots that reminded me of Mandrakes, and began peeling them deftly with a small knife. 

I hadn’t realised I’d been watching for so long until Draco smirked over at me, long fingers still working to turn and shave at the root vegetable as easily as though his eyes were still trained on it. 

“Harry,” he teased, “We’re you going to help or just watch me peel the celeriac?” 

“I just like watching your hands,” I mumbled, returning to dicing my onions. 

Carefully. 

“Well, it’s dawned on me, now that you’re helping, we might finish dinner well ahead of schedule and we might have time for you to watch my hands do much more interesting things before your cousins arrive, so focus, will you?” 

“No.” 

He stopped peeling and stared at me.

“I mean,” I tried again. “I’d rather not look like you’ve just ravished me before meeting my niece and nephews for the first time.” 

“Good point,” he agreed, nodding and returning to his task. “I have a feeling the evening will be interesting enough as it is.” 

Dudley had texted me last week, and despite our earlier plan to meet up after the holidays, it had become clear that a proper introduction to his children was needed much sooner than that.

_“Hey Harry,” the text had come through as I was walking back to the flat from my Apparition point after practice that Wednesday._

_“Hi Dudley,” I’d replied, bunching my coat more tightly around me as I typed. “What’s up?”_

_“Callum’s birthday is today.”_

_Erm… okay, I thought to myself._

_Was he hinting that I should have sent him a card or a gift?_

_“He turned eleven.”_

_Oh._

_I’d stopped in the middle of the pavement._

_“He received his letter, then?” I’d typed, moving aside to let others pass. “From Hogwarts?”_

_“Yes. We already replied with the owl. But… I_ _have no idea_ _where to find these things he needs.”_

 _I’d frowned, only now realising that it must have been quite confusing_ _, indeed,_ _for Muggle-born students to figure out where to purchase their school supplies for Hogwarts._

_“I think you and the family ought to come over for dinner soon,” I’d replied. “I’m gone this weekend for a match, but what about next weekend?”_

And so here we were, Draco and I, preparing to welcome my cousin and his, apparently, _very_ magical family, for dinner. 

Soon the chicken dish was simmering happily on the stove, my mirepoix having been deemed “perfect” by Draco, thank-you-very-much, and the celery root that he’d been peeling and boiling now baking with a generous stir of cream and topping of cheese in the oven. 

“What now?” I asked. 

“Now you need to get out,” he insisted, nudging me gently towards the door. “I’ve already told you, dessert is a surprise.”

“Oh, come on,” I wheedled, pushing back against him, grinning up at him hopefully. “I could sample it! Be the taste-tester?”

“No.”

“Give me a hint, at least….”

Treacle tart, please. 

From Bessie, please. 

“You can definitely lap the remainder of it from my cock tomorrow night, if you behave and leave the kitchen now,” he snapped, playfully shoving at me again, and I straightened immediately.

“I’ll be in the reception,” I assured him, ducking out of the kitchen and resettling myself on the sofa, curling up with my book and forgotten glass of wine, waiting for Dudley and his family to arrive. 

***

Draco and I were snuggling on the sofa, waiting for Dudley and his family to arrive. 

We’d told them around five-thirty, and it was just after five now.

“Can you imagine?” Draco was asking. “Learning you’re a wizard and having to figure out how to get to Diagon Alley and having to exchange your Muggle money and dealing with goblins and all that?”

“I mean, no,” I replied sarcastically. “Couldn’t, possibly.” 

“Oh, hush,” he chided. “You had Hagrid, at least.” 

“Yes, and I met the most wonderfully sweet boy at Madam Malkin’s,” I shot back, feeling particularly snarky, for some reason.

Luckily, Draco just laughed, pulling me closer, and I couldn’t help but snuggle deeper into his side. 

“Are you honestly telling me you didn’t immediately fall in love with the charming, dapper eleven-year-old me?” he asked, pretending to be shocked, and I rolled my eyes and smacked him playfully. 

“What was your first thought of me?” I asked, twisting up to look at him. “I mean, do you even remember meeting me at Madam Malkin’s?”

He hadn’t known who I was then, and was probably too young to have noticed my looks back then — which, thanks to the Dursley’s hadn't been so great, anyway. 

Draco frowned.

“Not really,” he admitted. “I have vague recollections of a nondescript boy, but I was more concerned with how the witch measuring me wasn’t getting the measurements right.

"So you were always super-gay, then,” I snorted, because, of course, little eleven-year-old Draco would not only have understood how custom fittings worked but would have absolutely noticed if something wasn’t being done correctly. 

Nevermind that they were school robes, and no one cared what they looked like. 

Draco drew back and glared down at me.

“Being fashion-conscious and understanding what a quality fitting is has nothing to do with being gay,” he countered.

“Take Blaise, for example. Ask him about his robe fitting at Madam Malkin’s and then I _dare_ you to call him super-gay.

“Tsk-tsk, Potter, I would have thought you’d be above resorting such stereotypes.” 

I stuck my tongue out at him and was about to retort when the doorbell rang and we both stood, glancing at each other nervously. 

“It’ll all be fine,” he assured me, leaning down to kiss my temple as we made our way across the reception, and I smiled up at him, albeit nervously, as he reached a hand out to open the door.

“Hullo, Harry, Draco…” Dudley seemed just as nervous as I was, grinning almost stupidly, and I couldn’t help but return his smile.

“Hi,” I replied, then immediately felt clumsy and awkward as Draco graciously opened the door wide, pulling me gently to stand off to the side with him, allowing our guests to enter.

His wife was tall with friendly brown eyes and dark hair who, judging by her immaculate appearance and perfectly coiffed bob, would get along smashingly with Draco and Blaise. 

“This is my wife, Alice,” Dudley was saying as they entered and Draco shut the door behind them. “And then we’ve got Callum, Violet, and Alfie.” 

Callum was, unsurprisingly, also tall, — I had no doubt he would be soon catching up to me in height — with Dudley’s dark blond hair and the same friendly eyes as his mum. 

“Hello,” he said, grinning excitedly at Draco and I. “Is it true, you’re both wizards!”

“He’s like me!” Little Alfie piped up suddenly, dark blue eyes peering up at Draco from beneath his dark brown curls. 

Draco was gazing down at Alfie, eyes focused on Alfie’s as he knelt so they were eye level, a tiny smile crinkling at the corner of his mouth.

Suddenly, Draco threw his head back and laughed.

“Well, that was probably a good idea,” he agreed, still grinning down at Alfie as he stood. 

“Sorry,” he apologised to the rest of us, although he didn’t really sound very sorry at all. 

“We brought this for you,” Alice said, holding out a pot of rosemary. “Dudley said you two were adamant we shouldn’t bring anything, but I insist. 

“Trimmed it from our own rosemary bush in the garden,” she went on with a smile. “There’s nothing quite like having fresh rosemary in the kitchen, not to mention it keeps mosquitos and other bugs at bay.” 

“Thank you,” I replied, carefully taking the pot from Alice. 

I hadn’t even realised I’d sent the pot towards the kitchen until the entire Dursley family gasped.

“Sorry,” I winced. “I didn’t even realise….”

“Wicked,” Callum breathed, staring in awe as the pot of rosemary floated into the kitchen and out of sight. “Am I going to learn how to do that?” 

“Yeah,” I replied, then frowned in thought. “Actually, you’ll learn that one your first year, but you’ll start with something light, like a feather, and you’ll have to use your wand.

“And make sure you say the incantation correctly,” I giggled and glanced at Draco.

“Wingardium Levi-OH-sa, not Levio-SA,” I joked, making an exaggerated swish and flick motion with my wrist.

Draco just frowned at me.

“I don’t see what’s so funny about not pronouncing a spell correctly,” he replied, and I felt a bit like a chastised child.

“Sorry,” I amended quickly. “Had to be there, I guess….”

“So you really do have wands?” Callum asked excitedly. “The list says I’ll need a wand. It’s a real wand?”

“A real wand,” I assured him. 

“Can I see yours?” 

I glanced at Draco questioningly. 

I mean, I didn’t even have a wand anymore. 

“Sure, let me go get it,” Draco agreed, then paused.

“Before we get all caught up in wizard things, may I offer you something to drink?” he asked.

Ugh. 

Right.

I was a terrible host. 

“Wine, beer, something stronger, if you’d prefer?” 

“I’d love a glass of wine, please,” Alice said, nodding. “Red.” 

Draco went through his usual list of red wines, because you know damned well he had several varieties on hand, and Alice gave him a happy smile.

“Oh! Are you a wine lover as well?” she asked.

“I’m an alcohol-lover,” Draco replied with a nonchalant shrug. 

He turned to Dudley.

“I’ll take a whiskey, neat, if you’ve got it?” 

Draco nodded and turned to me.

“Whiskey for you as well, then?” 

I nodded.

I usually drank whatever Draco drank, really. 

“And what about you three?” he asked. “Would you like a glass of squash, or plain water… of course, we have fizzy drinks as well, but only if it’s alright with your mum and dad.” 

Callum’s eyes darted over to Dudley and Alice immediately. 

“Why not?” Dudley agreed. “It’s the weekend, and we can call this a small celebration for Callum being accepted into Hogwarts, right?”

“What flavours have you got?” Violet asked me solemnly. “I like strawberry squash.” 

“I bet we can get that for you, no problem,” I assured her.

Because Draco had, literally, picked up about every flavour of squash and every brand of fizzy drink you could imagine, you know. Just in case.   
  


_“We have to have everything,” he’d insisted as we strolled around the Waitrose, Draco dumping several bottles into the cart._

_“You remember what it was like when you were a kid and the boring adults didn’t have your flavour of squash or favourite fizzy drink on hand.”_

_“Erm, I don’t really remember having a choice of anything to drink as a child,” I’d reminded him hesitantly, not wanting to get his ire up about my childhood with Dudley coming over._

_“Well, then you’ll just have to help me drink these all up so you can figure out what your favourite squash flavour is,” he’d replied, tugging me towards him and kissing my cheek._

_“Except we’ll mix ours with soda and a splash of vodka for a little fun, hmm? It’ll be lovely come summer.”_

“Me too!” Alfie piped up. “I want strawberry, too, please!” 

“May I have a Coke, please?” Callum asked. “I can help you carry them, too.” 

Draco gave Callum a mischievous little smile as an array of glasses floated back into the room and into our outstretched hands.

Well, Draco’s and my whiskies both sailed neatly into our outstretched hands.

The other beverages sort of stopped and floated, looking almost confused, in front of their designated guests. 

“Oh!” Violet clapped in delight, giggling as she reached out to take her glass. 

“Callum, darling, you’re going to have to help mum out a lot more in the kitchen when you come home next summer,” Alice teased, taking her glass of wine and grinning down at her son.

“Oh, right, about that…” I interjected with another wince. “He can’t do magic at home during the breaks. Not until he’s seventeen.”

“Why not?” Callum demanded with all the outrage and indignation an eleven-year-old wizard being told he couldn’t do magic at home should have. 

“Erm, not sure, really,” I replied. “Because the Ministry for Magic says so?”

“Honestly, Potter,” Draco rolled his eyes. “Could you imagine what an older sibling would do to the younger ones if he were allowed to perform magic at home over the summer? Especially if he has Muggle parents? Or what about other Muggle children?”

“When are we going to see your wand?” Alfie demanded, putting us back on track, and Draco switched his drink to his right hand and held out his left, the familiar hawthorn wand zooming into it. 

He held it out for the three children to inspect, and Callum began to reach for it, then drew back hesitantly.

“Go ahead,” Draco assured him. “Just… don’t swish it at someone, just in case.” 

Callum took the wand in his right hand carefully and turned so he was facing the hallway and held it up, then glanced over his shoulder for reassurance.

“It’s fine,” I encouraged. “Honestly, there’s a good chance nothing will happen, and if something does, it won’t damage anything.” 

Callum turned again and swished the wand.

Nothing happened.

“Does that mean….” he asked, looking at Draco and I worriedly as he gave the wand back to Draco. 

“No,” Draco assured him. “It just means it’s not the wand for you. The wand picks the wizard, and when you’re younger and still learning magic, it’s pretty hard to get a wand that doesn’t… feel you… to do much of anything.” 

“Oh.” Callum nodded. “Will mine look like that?”

“And mine, too!” Alfie added, in that way toddlers have of needing to be included in everything. 

“Similar.”

“What do you mean by the wand picking the wizard?” Dudley asked. “And the wand feeling you?”

“Erm, well, every wand is different. There are certain woods and materials for the wand core that are used, thousands of combinations, really,” I began, glancing at Draco hesitantly, because, while I knew he’d have tons more knowledge of the subject than I did, I wasn’t sure if the Dursleys were ready for a course in The Complete, Unabridged History of Wands quite yet. 

“The short version,” he began, and I breathed a sigh of relief, “Is that each type of wood used has certain characteristics, for example, mine is made of hawthorn, which is a rather conflicted type of wood…”

“What’s conflicted?” asked Violet, and Draco chuckled and thought for a moment. 

“I think another example would work well here,” he said finally. 

“I grew up in a not-so-nice family, and I was a bully and… quite mean growing up, and it was a little bit hard to admit that I didn’t want to be mean anymore, and then I had to kind of work at it, so… I was a bit conflicted.” 

“Sounds a lot like me,” Dudley piped up. “You know how Daddy’s told you how spoilt he was, and how he bullied and punched the other neighbourhood children, then he had to work _really_ hard so that mummy would date him.” 

Violet and Alfie giggled, eyes darting teasingly between Dudley and Alice, and Callum, pre-teen that he was, rolled his eyes and did his best to look completely grossed out. 

“Yes, so if your father were a wizard, it’s very likely he’d have a hawthorn wand as well,” Draco agreed with a smile in Dudley’s direction. 

“What kind of wand do you have, Harry?” Alice asked.

Apparently they were way more interested in this wand lore than I’d ever been. 

“Erm, well, I don’t actually have one anymore,” I explained. “It broke and then I realised I don’t actually need a wand, and so I just never got a new one….” 

“Why don't you need a wand?” Dudley asked. “You always had it on you back at Privet Drive.”

I grinned, thinking of all the times I had playfully pulled it on Dudley, muttering nonsense, until they’d discovered I couldn’t do magic at home.

“None of the spells I teased you with was real, you know,” I informed him.

“I figured, seeing as I never sprouted another pig’s tail, but, I appreciate knowing for sure.” 

“A _pig’s_ tail!” Violet screeched, clapping her hands to her mouth and giggling, her glass of squash clattering to the floor and shattering.

“Oh _no_!” she exclaimed, hands still clasped over her mouth, big brown eyes looking worriedly up at Draco and me, then her parents. 

“That’s another great thing about being a wizard,” I assured her with a casual wave of my hand, grinning as the three of them stared in awe at the shards of glass rearranging themselves and the puddle of liquid disappearing. 

“And here’s another, just like new,” Draco added as another glass zoomed out. 

This time, Violet was prepared, and she caught the glass as it neared her, squealing with delight. 

“Oh, Callum! I can’t wait until you can do magic at home and you can zoom us glasses of squash or whatever we need!”

Violet smiled that adoring smile you see younger siblings giving their elder ones all the time as she carefully lifted her new glass to her mouth, clutching at it with both hands this time. 

“What’s behind that door?” she asked, eyes rooted on the hidden doorway to Draco’s potions room and office. 

He kept it concealed out of habit, just in case any Muggles, like, the building maintenance team or someone, stopped by unannounced, and it was situated just inside the hallway leading to the bedrooms. 

Merlin, _I_ hadn’t even known it was there until I’d been living there for a few weeks. 

“You can see that?” Draco asked, glancing at where he knew the door was, then down at Violet curiously.

“Mm-hmm,” she nodded, sipping her drink. “Am I not supposed to? I see a lot of things I’m not supposed to. That's why I mostly stay quiet around grown-ups." 

“But not like us,” Alfie replied, clearly answering a question from Draco. 

"It’s my office,” Draco replied, glancing at the doorway as it appeared.

“What?” Alice gasped. “You have a hidden room there? Dudley, could you imagine selling magical real estate?”

We started making our way towards the room when Draco turned suddenly.

“First of all, does anyone need a refill on their drink?” he asked, holding up his empty glass. “Or want to swap out for something else?” 

In less than a minute, another glass of wine was floating out to Alice, along with a second small glass of whiskey for the three of us. 

“And, I had invited you over early, assuming we’d get sidetracked, but is anyone starting to get hungry?” 

Two little platters of appetisers came zooming out then: one filled with a variety of olives, ricotta-stuffed cherry peppers, and a selection of cheeses and charcuterie; the other filled with more kid-friendly things like fruit kebabs with yoghurt dip, cubes of cheddar, and small sausage bites. 

“We rarely eat before six-thirty or seven,” Dudley admitted, reaching for an olive. “By the time Alice and I get home, and, you know, it’s nice to relax a bit and spend some time playing with the kids….”

“Perfect,” Draco said. “Then let’s go make a potion, shall we?” 

“A potion?!” Alfie squealed, running up and grabbing Draco’s hand. “A real potion?!”

Draco laughed and swung Alfie up to carry him on his hip. 

“Yes, a _real_ potion, and you can be my special helper, okay?” 

“Okay!” 

Alice and Dudley gave a short gasp as we stepped into the room, and I realised that this was, for them, probably the first reality check that their children were wizards.

I mean, okay, yes, they’d had the owl and the letter from Hogwarts.

But walking into a potions lab the likes of Draco’s…

Well, that was a different universe altogether. 

Not for nothing was he Snape’s godson, and, I’ll admit, reaching way back in my memory to look at the room from a Muggle lens, it was, well, sinister-looking. 

There was a large desk piled with books and parchment and huge bookshelves, filled floor-to-ceiling with books filling the front half of the room. 

Old, leather-bound tomes, slim silk-covered volumes, scrolls of parchment. 

Further back, another set of shelves held potions ingredients — flagons and pots and beakers full of creepy, mysterious, and slimy-looking ingredients. 

In the centre of the room, an array of cauldrons, a few of them simmering away, emitting puffs of strange-coloured smoke.

“It looks a bit frightening, but it’s all harmless stuff, really,” I assured them, and they nodded. 

“I know,” Alice said, nodding. “It’s just…”

“A bit jarring?” I asked with a grin. “I remember the first time I walked into a potions classroom. All the cauldrons bubbling… looks exactly like what you’d imagine a witches lair to look like?”

“Double, double toil and trouble; Fire burn and cauldron bubble,” Dudley quoted, and I turned to stare at him in shock.

“No offence, Dudley, but I wouldn’t have pegged you for a Shakespear fan.” 

“I’m not, really,” he replied. “But… that line always made me think of you, so I remembered it. 

“I mean… just, you know…because, well, we read Macbeth just after that summer, with the Dementy-thingies.” 

“I get it,” I assured him, glancing over towards Draco and the kids. 

Draco had Violet and Callum sat before their own cauldrons and little Alfie on his lap with his own, carefully measuring out ingredients into three neat piles. 

“What are they making?” Dudley whispered, and I shrugged. 

“What are you making?” I asked Draco. 

“You’ll see,” he grinned. “Something that’ll make them eat their vegetables.” 

“Oh!” Alice exclaimed happily. “Yes, please! Make lots of it!”

Draco smirked knowingly up at her. 

“Don’t worry, a little goes a long way.” 

“What else are you making?” she asked, nodding at the simmering cauldrons just behind us. 

“Erm,” Draco set down the newts’ eyes he’d been measuring out and twisted around. 

“That there is a Hangover potion… don’t worry, I’ll be sending some home with you,” he added with a knowing smile. “The other two… well, they’re for work, and I can’t really say.” 

I watched, commenting as much as I was able, as Draco led the three children in brewing their first potion. 

All three of them, even Callum, ran up to their parents with their little phials once they’d finished, and I couldn’t help but glance over at Draco, heart absolutely melting, because how was I so damned lucky?

I flashed him a grateful smile, and he winked back, sending his ingredients back to their shelves and the small cauldrons over to the sink, where they began washing themselves. 

“I think we’ve rather earned ourselves a nice dinner, haven’t we?” he asked, joining us, and a few minutes later, we were seated at the table, Draco at one end of the table and myself at the other.

Dudley and Alice sat in the dining chairs facing the wall, and the three children sharing the sofa. 

“Now,” said Draco, as they all wrinkled their noses at the frisée salad adorned with candied beet cubes and a small goat cheese medallion that had been battered and pan-fried.

“I know this doesn’t look very appetising to you, but I want you to trust me.”

They all nodded, watching Draco with rapt attention. 

“Take the stopper and drop just the teensiest little drop on your salad,” he instructed. 

“Careful, Alfie, that’s too much,” he added, giving the boy an admonishing glance, and Alfie guiltily replaced his dropper and tried again.

“Now… take a bite,” Draco instructed, and I watched along with Alice and Dudley as they obediently lifted a forkful of salad to their mouths.

“Oh!” Violet cried out. “Yum! It tastes like strawberry ice cream!” 

“No it doesn’t, silly,” Callum shot back. “It’s Victoria sponge.”

“Nuh-uh,” Alfie insisted. “It tastes like the cake mum made me for my birthday!”

“The tiniest drop will make any food taste like your absolute favourite,” Draco informed us all with a wink. 

“It really comes in handy when visiting ornery relatives who insist on you eating your vegetables,” he added. 

“Wait a minute,” I frowned. “If you can brew a potion that makes food taste like your absolute favourite, why are all you wizard children hiding your veg in the house plants?” 

“We didn’t know how to brew a potion,” Violet replied just as Draco chuckled:

“It’s more fun to hide them in the plants!” 

“Well, yeah, that, too,” Callum agreed with a grin as he shoved a giant forkful of salad into his mouth. 

The rest of the meal continued, Alice begging Draco for his chicken fricassée recipe after Dudley and all three children declared it delicious.

“Oh,” she frowned. “I mean, unless… could I make it? Without magic?”

“Absolutely,” Draco assured her. “The recipe’s a Muggle one, from a friend of mine in Paris. I rarely use magic in the kitchen except for things like holding a dish at temperature, or to spell a spoon to stir for me, but…” 

He paused and grinned at her impishly. 

“I’m sure you figured out how to do all that without magic?” 

We were just about to tuck into dessert… a positively drool-worthy banoffee pie that Draco had made from scratch - when Violet suddenly jerked her head up and stared at Draco.

“I don’t like to see you so sad,” she declared, eyes welling up with tears as she stared up at him. 

Draco’s silvery gaze wasn’t the only one that slid surreptitiously in her direction. 

“Am I sad?” he asked, tilting his head at her and smiling. 

“Not right now,” she declared indignantly. “You’re happy.” 

“Then you think I _will_ be sad?” he asked with a gentle smile. “That’s fair. Everyone’s sad once in a while.” 

“Yeah!” Violet exclaimed, her natural smile taking over her face. “Because none of this is real, you know that, right Draco?” 

“I do,” he assured her with a wink, as he continued to portion out the dessert and deliver a generous slice to everyone’s plate. 

***

“What was that all about?” I asked once the door had shut on Dudley and his family. 

Draco frowned and raised an eyebrow in a silent question.

“That bit with Violet just before dessert?” 

Draco shrugged.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “As with most prophesies, some vague mumble jumble that will only really make sense in hindsight?”

If I hadn’t been so on edge I might have laughed at Draco’s one-hundred per cent accurate description of a prophecy.

“So she’s a Seer, then?” I clarified, pulling him towards me as I toppled onto the love seat at the dining table. 

Draco tumbled down on top of me, arms wrapping around me as we rearranged ourselves to get comfortable. 

“Obviously.” 

“Well, what does she mean, none of this is real?”

“I just told you, I don’t know.”

“Then why’d you say you did?” I demanded. “You said you knew.”

“I just said it because we were at the table and it was awkward,” he explained.

“She’s _six_ , Harry. She has no idea what’s happening to her when she slides under for a vision.” 

“What’s not real?” 

“Harry,” Draco sounded exasperated. “I don’t know!” 

“Ouch! What the fuck, Draco!”

He’d just pinched and twisted a large chunk of skin on my forearm so hard that I actually punched him in the arm with real force behind it.

“Merlin, Potter, you don’t have to bruise me,” he muttered, rubbing at his arm.“I was just making sure you were real.” 

“Well, now we know we’re both real,” I retorted, also rubbing my forearm. “Any other theories, genius?” 

“Harry, I swear to Merlin, if you ask me one more time if I know what the bloody hell she meant by none of this is real, I will hex you into fucking 2010.” 

“Maybe it’s your dad?”

“How would my father's reappearance in my life being fake make me sad?” 

“Oh. Right… maybe you were crying tears of happiness in her vision and Violet just didn’t understand!”

Draco just stared at me. 

“Please stop trying to think,” he replied, finally. “You’re clearly hurting yourself.” 

“Maybe whatever’s going to make you sad isn’t real,” I mused. “Like, we’re here thinking that something’s not real and that’s going to make you sad, but… maybe it’s the opposite?”

Draco shrugged. 

“Like I said, Harry, prophesies are weird and usually don’t make sense until after the fact. We’ll look back on this in a few years and laugh our arses off, probably.”

“Yeah, sure. Probably.” 

“Now come on,” he urged, pulling me closer and brushing his lips against mine. “We need to wrap up your very first dinner party…”

“I thought we already had done… everyone’s gone….” 

“No,” he corrected me, still kissing me between words. “The best part of throwing a dinner party is the grown-up dessert the two hosts get to share after everyone’s gone home.” 


	48. More Best "Laid" Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Fabulous Six are now meeting for weekly pints, and this weekend they're joined by Ginny and Micah. 
> 
> The song mentioned in the chapter is "Laid" by a band called James that were popular in the 90s that I found on a "90s Anthem" mix on Spotify. 
> 
> I've embedded a link to the YouTube video in the fic so you can hear what our gang is hearing during the scene (oh, and picture Draco dancing too, you're welcome.)
> 
> ALSO. VERY IMPORTANT! If you read the last chapter right after it was posted, and it ended with Draco just smiling and telling Violet that he knew it wasn't real and were like "WTF? Why would she do this to us?" and didn't get the update... when I reuploaded the story after AO3 glitched, the very last part of the chapter didn't get uploaded, so you may want to go back and read it. Like I've explained to the readers who left comments, it won't necessarily answer all of your questions, but should certainly leave you with more a sense of closure and not just pure sadness. I felt so bad that this happened to so many of you!

_Friday Evening_

04 _December 2009_

_Ron’s POV_

It was Friday night, and we had gathered again for weekly pints at The World’s End — which was quickly becoming our favourite spot — and I couldn’t help but shake my head and glance over at Blaise while we waited on our next round.

“Would you ever have believed that the six of us would meet for weekly pints?” I began, and he grinned over at me, already knowing where this was going.

“And that we’d be inviting my little sister and her Muggle girlfriend to a Muggle pub that Harry’s Muggle cousin introduced us to?” 

We’d left as Harry and Draco were recounting the dinner party they’d thrown for Callum’s acceptance to Hogwarts, and I still couldn’t quite believe that Harry’s dolt-of-a-cousin had churned out three bloody wickedly magic children.

I’m not going to lie.

Violet scared me, and even though I hadn’t met her, I just sort of envisioned her walking around like a miniature Professor Trelawney, which should have been comedic, really, but, for some reason, creeped me out. 

“No,” Blaise replied, also shaking his head, then frowned a bit. “I still can’t quite believe it.”

“But I’m glad,” he added. “It shows how much we’ve all changed and grown up since Hogwarts… some more than others, obviously.” 

We returned to our table in the far corner, carefully holding the pints as we weaved around the other patrons in the crowded pub, secretly glad for the stabilising charm we’d used so Blaise and I could each “skilfully” balance two pint glasses in each palm and bring all eight pints in one run.

Even the barman had been impressed and joked that we were real professionals.

“What are we talking about now?” I asked, setting a pint down before Hermione, Ginny, and Micah, keeping the fourth for myself. “What have we missed?” 

“We’re trying to make sure Pansy doesn’t hex that poor bloke across the way who keeps making eyes at her,” Hermione replied. “She’s all but murdered him with her stare, but he doesn’t seem to understand.” 

“Just a small one,” Pansy wheedled. “Like, a simple little tripping hex. He won’t have any idea and maybe he’ll just get embarrassed and go home and leave me alone… _please?_ ”

“No,” Draco replied, taking a sip of his pint. “Absolutely not. Behave” 

“I mean, am I a terrible Muggle if I say go for it?” Micah encouraged. “He’s not taking a fucking hint and being a skeevy gross perv and also, I kinda want to see what this tripping hex looks like….” 

“Micah, you’re _terrible_ ,” Harry groaned, slumping over into Draco with a rueful smile in her direction.

“I like this girl,” Pansy informed Ginny. “If she’d have been a witch, she’d have been in Slytherin for sure.”

“Aww, ickle Gryffindors both had to find themselves a more cunning partner, did they?” Blaise cooed at Ginny and Harry, who both promptly flipped him off. 

I was about to protest being referred to as an “ickle Gryffindor,” albeit inadvertently, when the bloke in question suddenly stumbled and went flying, just barely catching himself on the edge of another table, and we all looked at Pansy.

“What?” she shrugged innocently. “I just wanted to make sure Draco’s adopted little Micah felt welco….” 

“Seriously? Are they playing this song _again_?” Ginny asked suddenly, and I strained my ears to hear the music over the din surrounding us.

She was right. 

This song had played several times already since we’d been here.

“Someone’s a tad obsessed with this song, I’d say,” I replied, eyes narrowing as I noticed the lightning-quick glance Pansy and Blaise both had shot at Draco. 

To be honest, I probably wouldn’t have even noticed it a few months ago, and I privately congratulated myself on honing my detective skills, what, with noticing a Slytherin’s surreptitious glance and all. 

“Ben loved this song,” Pansy spoke up, eyes flicking over to Draco who sighed. “Said it always reminded him of Draco.” 

“He’s not here, I’ve already checked,” he replied, eyes scanning the pub once more. “But it _does_ seem like someone’s trying to make me think of him.” 

He glanced down at Harry, placing a reassuring kiss on his temple, which even I thought was particularly sweet as the conversation inevitably turned to Malfoy’s ex. 

“Harry, love,” he drawled, slinging an arm across Harry’s shoulders and pulling him close. “Use your superpowers and check if anyone here is using a glamour, will you?” 

“Why’d this song remind him of you?” Harry asked, looking quite at ease and not worried in the slightest about the mention of Draco’s ex, and I hoped it meant they’d talked through whatever had been worrying Harry when Ben had randomly appeared a few weeks ago.

“Just listen,” Draco instructed as the drummer kicked in on the track, signalling the true beginning of the [song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0trh9Y598fM). “You’ll see.”

Draco smirked over at Harry, winking and singing along while lifting his arms and dancing around in his seat.

“ _This bed is on fire with passionate love,”_ the singer crooned.

“ _The neighbours complain about the noises above,”_ Draco continued dancing and singing along, and even I had to snigger at the lewd look he threw at Harry, who just rolled his eyes while taking a sip from his pint. 

“ _But she only comes when she’s on top,”_ the song continued and Micah let out a whoop and hopped off her chair, walking around the table to grab Draco.

“Is that true, Malfoy?” I demanded jokingly as the two of them began dancing around the small open space beside us at the pub.

“Ask Harry,” he replied with another smirk in Harry’s direction. 

Harry just flipped him off with a rather Slytherin-like smirk himself and I took a large gulp from my pint and did my usual awkward seat dance while grinning down at Hermione. 

“You don’t mind your darlings Draco and Micah dancing like that right in front of you?” Pansy asked, glancing from Draco and Micah to Ginny and Harry expectantly.

“Nope,” Ginny replied with an emphatic shake of her head, and Harry shrugged.

“This way, I get to avoid the awkwardness of trying to dance and just watch,” he explained.

“What’s this about awkwardness trying to dance, Potter?” Pansy teased. “We’ve all seen you gyrating shamelessly on your barstool.” 

“Well, yeah,” Harry replied, eyes still riveted on Draco, who, I had to admit, was a really bloody excellent dancer. “Anyone can grind along to any old song to catch a bloke’s eye, but actual dancing? That’s different.” 

_Ah_ _you think you’re so pretty,_ the singer crooned as Micah and Draco continued dancing. 

_Dressed me up in women’s clothes_

_Messed around with gender roles_

_Line my eyes and call me pretty…._

The singer went on as the two of them finally sat back down, giggling and snuggling with their actual partners. 

“Did one of you really dress up in women’s clothes?” Hermione asked curiously. 

“Merlin have mercy, did he ever,” Pansy replied, and we all turned to stare at her.

“What?” she asked, setting her pint down. “It was hot.”

“I didn’t go full drag,” Draco clarified, shooting Pansy a look. “Think more young Keith Richards or Bowie… leather trousers, eyeliner… just androgynous, really.” 

“That _does_ sound nice,” Harry agreed, eyes travelling over Draco’s body appreciatively, and I couldn’t help but roll my eyes.

Honestly, how either of these boys worried about the other not being completely infatuated.

“Hot,” Pansy repeated emphatically. “It was hot.

“I’m surprised your little neighbour boy didn’t spontaneously combust at some point.” 

“Little neighbour boy?” Ginny repeated giggling, brows raised. 

Draco shrugged.

“Scrawny kid who would always stammer at us whenever we met up in the corridor.” 

“He had such a crush on Draco,” Pansy informed us all. “And, of course, Draco was oblivious, but, Merlin, he would just _stare_ at him every time he walked by.”

“How would you know?” Draco countered irritably. “You were hardly ever over at my place….” 

“I know,” Pansy replied, sipping her pint. “But Ben would go on and on all the time about that annoying kid and how he would stare just a little too hard.” 

“Well, if I wasted my time worrying about all the annoying blokes who stared ‘ _too hard_ ’, I would have wasted a lot of time on nothing,” Draco replied. “Anywa—”

“That man,” Harry said suddenly, eyes darting down to his pint. “Don’t look, but there’s a man over there who’s definitely in a glamour. And he’s definitely focused on us.”

“On me and Draco,” he clarified. “Not this entire table. Just the two of us.” 

It took all my years of Auror training and time on the job not to spin around and try to catch a glimpse of this bloke who’d been wreaking havoc on my mates, but I forced myself to take a gulp from my pint and grin over at Micah and Ginny.

“Bet you two weren’t expecting to be in the middle of this on your one weekend down in London, hmm?” 

“Really, Ron, will Harry ever have a quiet life?” Ginny reasoned with a grin back at me, while Micah’s brow furrowed.

“What’s a glamour?” 

Hermione and Draco launched into a (far-too-detailed-and-boring) explanation of glamours, while Micah, bless her, nodded politely and sipped her pint. 

“And… someone is after Harry?” she asked. “And they’re in one of these glamours?” 

“No,” Blaise replied, frowning, as that same bloody song began playing again. 

“I think they’re after Draco. 

“And, for some reason, they’re trying to put him in contact with his ex, who loved this song.” 

“But wh…” Micah began, only to be cut off by Ben, of all people, grabbing Draco and all but twirling him off of his barstool.

“There you are,” he exclaimed, a giant grin on his face, indifferent to the looks of shock on all of our faces, and the, frankly, terrifyingly angry one on Harry’s. 

“Sorry I’m late… but listen! They’re playin' our song… dance with me.” 

“Excuse me?” Draco asked, smoothly twirling right out of Ben’s arms and plopping right back into his seat. 

“Aw, come on, Gumdrop,” Ben wheedled, arms wrapping around Draco in a much too familiar manner.

Gumdrop? 

Had this bloke really just called Draco Malfoy _Gumdrop_?

“Don’t be all pouty with me tonight,” Ben continued, still oblivious to the rest of us and Draco’s continued attempts at dislodging himself from his grasp. 

Then again, I could absolutely imagine a salty Malfoy angrily thwarting his boyfriend’s attempts to be sweet after having had the nerve to show up late, even for something as simple as pints with your mates. 

“Excuse me,” Harry interrupted, and Merlin, it’d been ages since I’d seen Harry’s eyes flare like that and I placed my hand on the concealed wand near my hip, noticing that Blaise, Hermione, Ginny, and Pansy were all doing the same.

“Yeah, okay, you’re excused,” Ben replied, eyes still focused on Draco as he leant against the table on one elbow, grinning up at Draco. 

“No,” Harry shot back. “I mean, excuse me, but who the fuck are you?”

“And I’ll repeat it right back at ya, precious,” Ben replied, straightening, his own eyes flaring as he straightened and all but called Harry out with his eyes, hands reaching protectively for Draco. “Who the fuck are you?”

He paused, eyes glancing over to Draco worriedly.

“Is this schmuck botherin’ you, babe?” 

Draco had been glancing over at Harry, hands still working to disentangle himself from Ben, when they stilled suddenly.

“Ben, love,” he said, his entire demeanour changing, relaxing and leaning towards Ben as he sipped his pint, eyes flickering around the pub. 

Ben slung an arm around Draco and beamed over at him, throwing a smirk in Harry’s direction.

I noticed, however, that Draco’s other hand remained firmly entwined with Harry’s in Harry’s lap, and I watched Draco for any clue as to what the fuck was going on.

Because something was going on, and Draco seemed to be one step ahead of the rest of us. 

“Help me out, would you?” Draco continued, smiling at Ben. “It’s been a rough week and I’m having a bit of a brain lapse, and I cannot, for the life of me, remember today’s date.” 

Ben gave Draco an indulgent smile and nuzzled a spot just above Draco’s ear, and I had to admit, under very different circumstances, they might have made a cute couple.

You know, circumstances where Draco wasn’t actually dating my best mate and being mauled by his ex who didn’t seem to realise he was his ex, quite possibly due to a hex or some other dark magic. 

“Aw, don't worry Sugar Lips, I'll help you out,” he laughed, and I made a mental note to file all of these precious pet names away to tease Malfoy with in the future. “It’s Friday, December 3rd.

“Scuse me, 3rd December,” he corrected himself, rolling his eyes.

“You know, in England, it’s proper to give the year along with the date,” Draco replied, flashing Ben an impish smile as he took a sip from his pint.

No, it bloody wasn’t. What the bloody hell was Draco getting at?

Nevermind the fact that Ben has also given the wrong date. 

Ben rolled his eyes and stole a sip from Draco’s pint. 

“Fine, it’s Friday, 3rd December 2004, silly.” 

What. The. Actual. Fuck. 

Again, all of my training not to gawp. 

Draco didn’t even flinch, but I understood as his grey eyes flickered across the table at all of us.

“Ben!” Pansy called out from the opposite end of the table. “I can’t believe you’ve been here all of five minutes already, and you haven’t even come over to tell me hello….”

She crossed her arms and pouted, shooting Ben a mock glare. 

“Pansy!” he cried out, arms stretched out for a hug as he made his way to where she sat. “How did I not notice you until now?” 

I caught the quick glance Draco shot at Harry and the brief nod he gave in return, and, again, was impressed at how Malfoy was managing to play along with Ben’s mind, stuck about five years in the past, and look out for Harry’s well-being at the same time. 

“I mean, everyone knows you’ve only eyes for Draco, but still, I expect _some_ acknowledgement from time to time,” Pansy replied, pulling Ben in for a friendly hug. 

“What’d you do to your hair?” Ben asked, frowning. “How’d it get so long?” 

“I got extensions,” Pansy replied, threading her fingers through her long locks. “Do you like?” 

“Of course,” Ben replied, then seemed to finally notice the rest of us sitting around the table. 

“I’m sorry,” he grinned. “I was so worried about that one there,” he jerked his head over in Draco’s direction, “getting huffy cause I was running late, I didn’t even introduce myself.” 

“No problem, mate,” I spoke up. 

“I work with Blaise,” I added, figuring Ben probably knew Blaise. “And this is my wife, Hermione, and my sister Ginny and her partner, Micah.” 

Ben gave us each a friendly nod in turn, then his gaze slid over to Harry. 

“And who are you?” his eyes narrowed as he noted Harry’s proximity to Draco again, and I had to remind myself that, in Ben’s mind, Draco was still very much his. 

“Harry,” Harry replied, not skipping a beat and holding his hand out. “I’m an old schoolmate of Draco’s. 

“I’ve been helping keep the unwanted admirers away from this one for a while now,” he added with a rueful grin. “Got my hackles up out of habit… didn’t know who you were. Sorry….”

Ben relaxed and flashed Harry a genuine smile, and I noticed Draco relax slightly. 

“Ben, luv,” Pansy interrupted. “Be a dear and escort me to the bar so we can buy another round, will you?”

And with that, she led Ben away, but not before giving Draco a very brief, but pointed, look. 

“We need to get out of here,” Draco said immediately, pint tilted towards his lips, lest this random bloke in his glamour could read lips. 

“The Manor will be the safest place. I’m texting you all coordinates and adjusting my wards now.

“Hermione, you and Ginny leave now with Micah.” 

“Ron and I will take up the rear,” Blaise spoke up. “Only right, as Aurors. We can stay behind and scan the room before we leave.” 

“Is the bloke with the glamour still here?” I asked, turning towards Harry. 

Harry gave a slight shake of his head as Hermione, Ginny, and Micah made their way, giggling, to the loo, talking about reapplying make-up, and fashion, and other silly things I swear I'd never heard any of them gush so excitedly about before.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Pansy escorting Ben out of the pub, shaking out two Muggle cigarettes from a crumpled pack, clearly luring him outside with the promise of nicotine, and Harry waited just the perfect amount of time before he flung his arms around Draco, pulling him close.

“Take me home, now,” he begged, just a tad loudly, just in case there were any other eavesdroppers working with the glamoured nutter. 

Draco played right along and smirked over at Blaise and me. 

“You heard the boss,” he quipped. “Tell the girls good night for us.” 

And with that, they also exited the pub, Blaise and I watching for anyone who might be following them.

I glanced down at my mobile at the coordinates for Malfoy Manor, a slightly queasy feeling in the pit of my stomach.

“Shall we go get that next round on our own, then?” Blaise asked a few moments later, waving his empty pint in front of me.

We headed for the bar, eyes trained to look for anything unusual, and stepped out into the cool winter air, walking up the pavement a bit and ducking into a dark alley.

“Ready?” Blaise asked, holding out his arm, and I grabbed it, already feeling the pull of a side-along Apparition tugging at my navel. 

***

We landed, seconds later, in what I recognised to be the massive entrance hall to Malfoy Manor.

“Holy shit,” Micah was muttering, looking up and around her in a daze, taking in the immense stone hall with the two massive curving staircases, each leading to one of the mansion’s wings and joining in a balcony that overlooked the entry hall. 

When we’d been here as prisoners twelve years ago, the walls had been covered in portraits that were barely visible in the doom-and-gloom decor the Death Eaters had been so fond of.

Now, the hall was brighter, the portraits gone, with a large circular table holding a large vase filled with pink and white narcissus flowers, and I wondered if they were Narcissa’s touch or a thoughtful gift from Draco to his mum.

“This is where Draco grew up? No wonder his dad sounds like such a pompous twat.” 

We chuckled and I admit, I appreciated the brief bit of levity given our current situation. 

“Pansy, what….” Hermione asked suddenly, noticing Ben’s limp form sitting slumped against one of the staircases leading up to the second floor. 

“I had to Stupefy him,” she explained. “There was no way I was risking him freaking out about magic and wizardry just before a side-along.” 

Just then Harry and Draco appeared, Draco’s wand already drawn and casting several spells.

“What the fuck is going on?” Micah whispered. “What’s he doing? Are those all spells? How’s he doing that so fast?” 

“Let’s just call this ‘just in case any of us were on the fence about Draco being a perfect match for Harry’,” I replied, as Malfoy continued to cast protective spells with dizzying speed. 

“Honestly, I don’t think I've ever seen anyone cast spells as quickly as Malfoy,” Hermione mused beside me.

I felt the shock of a complex identity spell flash through me and I stared at Malfoy, dazedly wondering where he’d learnt a spell like that.

Honestly, the only people I knew of in the Ministry who even had access to such a complicated identity revealing spell were the top-level Secret Agents who would swoop in when raids or extracting a suspect got especially tricky or dangerous. 

They were frightening not only because of their faces, obscured with an almost blinding light so you couldn’t really look at them even though they wore a glamour so that identifying them was impossible, but because you knew your situation was well and truly fucked if one of them showed up.

Thankfully, that had only happened to Blaise and I a handful of times throughout the years, but how did _Draco_ know a spell this….

Oh. 

Shit, I realised with a gasp, glancing over at Blaise to see if he’d come to the same realisation I had.

“Are we all who we say we are, then?” Blaise asked quietly, just as stunned as I was. 

“If one of you weren’t, you wouldn’t be standing now,” Draco replied, looking particularly focused as he cast one final spell, causing a giant surge of energy to reverberate around the room and my skin tingled as I recognised… well… not _quite_ Dark Magic… but not exactly the sort of magic one learnt at Hogwarts, let’s say. 

The appearance of the room changed as Draco’s spell rippled through it, back to the austere, gloomy Manor I remembered from the last time I’d been here, and I realised that the last spell Malfoy had cast set up the old wards — the ones that only permitted a select few within the imposing gates at the entrance of the estate and made the entire property unplottable to anyone with no business being there. 

“Sorry,” Draco’s gaze slid over towards Hermione, Harry, and I. “I realise this probably isn’t bringing back the happiest of memories for you.” 

His gaze seemed particularly focused on Hermione, who was, no doubt, remembering her torture at the hands of his Aunt. 

“But these wards need to be up….”

I wrapped an arm around Hermione, who shook her head.

“We’re fine, Draco,” she assured him. “What do we need to do?” 

Draco’s reply was cut off by the sudden appearance of Lucius, running to peer over the bannister, a smile of — dare I say — delight? spreading across his face.

“Draco! Son!” he exclaimed, beaming down at his son, who turned and lifted his eyes towards him, one brow raising as a knowing smirk spreading across his face.

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t experience the briefest flicker of fear that we’d all been duped and Draco was finally delivering us to the Dark side, but he burst out laughing next second, and I released the breath I hadn’t even realised I’d been holding.

“Oh!” Draco gasped, bending over at the waist and resting his hands on his knees, he was laughing so hard. “Really, Father?” 

He tried to straighten and meet Lucius’ gaze once more, but failed, collapsing into giggles, this time onto Harry’s shoulder.

“Did you feel those old wards come up and hope that, perhaps, I’d crossed back over to the Dark side?” 

Lucius’ face fell visibly, but he said nothing. 

“Unfortunately, no,” Draco continued, laughter finally subsiding. “I am still very much on the side of right, although, I suppose I ought to thank you for those wards.

“They’ll certainly be needed tonight,” he added darkly, as though speaking to no one in particular. 

He gave a quick shake of his head and straightened. 

“Take him back to his rooms, please,” he instructed, and two Azkaban guards stepped out of the shadows to guide Lucius back down the hallway. 

“Draco?” 

Narcissa appeared at the top of the opposite stairs.

Honestly, could you imagine living in a home so large it required two separate staircases in the entry alone? I briefly wondered if Little Malfoy had ever gotten lost learning the layout of the mansion as a toddler. 

Narcissa's expression was guarded, she, too, having noticed the old wards going up.

“Is everything alright?” she asked, slowly descending the stairs, eyes trained on Draco, and I realised how bloody terrifying this might be for her. 

What it would mean for her if Draco had actually been evil all along and was now showing his true colours. 

Outside, the shrill cry of a peacock broke the eerie silence, and I saw one of the white birds strutting along the hedge, its tail spread in a ghostly, wide fan. 

“Mum,” Draco sounded surprised. 

“Shit, it’s the first weekend,” he muttered, and this, for some reason, made Harry and Narcissa chuckle. 

“It appears I have an admirer,” Draco stated dryly, and I sniggered at the completely unphased look Narcissa threw back at her son.

“Bet you’ve never heard that from him before, hmm?” I quipped, and she shifted her gaze towards me, a mirthful sparkle in her eyes.

“No,” she replied, smirking. “Never.”

“A… very motivated one, this time,” Draco continued, glaring at his mum and me. 

“Cissy!” Ben called out suddenly, struggling to his feet, rubbing dazedly at the back of his head. “Draco, you didn't tell me we were visiting your mom! When did we get here?”

Narcissa glanced around at the group gathered in the entry hall.

“Ben,” she greeted with a smile so natural despite the situation, I immediately understood why Harry and Hermione called her ‘Mummy Draco.’

“How are you, darling?” she shot a questioning glance at Draco, then Harry, as she passed, arms outstretched to gather Ben in for a hug. 

“Draco must have actually listened when I mentioned how wonderful it would be to see you two before the holidays.” 

She raised a brow at Draco, her look all but saying, “Tell me what the bloody hell is going on here.”

“I thought we’d make the 2004 holiday season a memorable one,” Draco replied. “So I invited all our friends.” 

Narcissa released Ben, smiling at him, before turning back to Draco.

“The what, dear?” she asked. 

“The holiday season,” Draco replied, not quite pulling away, but not quite snuggling into Ben as he slung an arm around Draco’s shoulders and pulled him closer. 

“Thought we’d bring 2005 in with a bang,” he continued with a little smirk in his mother’s direction.

“2005, yes, of course,” Narcissa replied so easily, I was beginning to wonder if maybe it _was_ 2004 and we’d all been pulled through a time tunnel. 

“What’s the matter, mum,” Draco teased. “Did you forget what year it was?”

“Of course not,” she replied with a smile so serene I almost didn’t catch the hidden meaning of her next words.

Bloody, sneaky Slytherins, always speaking practically in code. 

“If someone were to forget what year it was, that’d be cause for real worry, wouldn’t it?”

“Shall we start planning this smashing entrance into 2005 in another room?” Hermione piped up, giving a pointed smile at Draco. “Maybe one with a table… or chairs?” 

“The library will be best,” Narcissa said, turning on her heel and walking towards the left wing, clearly intending that we follow. 

“Should you need to do any research for your festivities, you’ll have our entire collection at your disposal.”

The corridor was dimly lit by small chandeliers flickering with candlelight every few metres, making all the portraits on the wall seem even eerier as they stared down at us in distaste, muttering about blood traitors and Mudbloods and Muggles. 

“Those aren’t usually here,” Harry mumbled, falling into step beside me. “He usually keeps them all locked up in the attic.” 

“What do you think is going on?” I whispered.

“Someone’s clearly tampered with his memory,” Hermione whispered. “But _why_? I mean, they’re clearly trying to get to Draco, but how does Ben thinking it’s 2004 help? _That’s_ what we need to answer.” 

“Hey, Golden Trio,” Draco called, turning to smirk at us as he paused in the ornate double-door entry to the library, and I had to admit, it did feel a bit like the old days, skulking around Hogwarts, solving mysteries.

“Have any interesting theories you’d care to share?”

“We’re working on it,” Harry assured him as we stepped into the Malfoy library.

The library was massive.

Not quite as large as the one at Hogwarts, but massive all the same.

Draco waved a hand, and the room doubled in size.

Okay.

So, Hogwarts massive, then. 

Hermione, bless her heart, looked as though she’d just died and gone to heaven, and I had a feeling Harry and I would be spending a lot of time lounging on the very comfy-looking sofas while Draco and Hermione did research or read a history book for fun, or whatever.

“We might be needing some of the more… obscure books in the family collection tonight,” Draco was saying.

“What the fuck just happened?” Ben asked, pulling away from Draco and turning to look at all of us, his expression caught somewhere between disbelief and fear.

“Did you all just see that?” he asked, pointing at the library. “Am I imagining things or did this room just fucking triple in size?” 

“Ben, lovie, you aren’t going to like this,” Draco sighed, rubbing at his temples with the thumb and fingers of his left hand. 

“You should probably sit down,” he added, taking a seat on one of the large leather sofas, indicating that Ben should sit on the one opposite.

“I’ll ask Bessie to prepare some tea and sandwiches. I have a feeling you’re all going to need something to nibble on throughout the night,” Narcissa excused herself, slipping out of the room. 

“Drakey, we’re going to look for some books to start planning this fabulous little party you’ve been talking about,” Pansy drawled, heading down one of the rows of books.

Hermione, Harry, Ginny, Micah, and I followed suit, but then I saw the look Blaise shot me, and the two of us lingered nearby. 

Blaise was worried about Ben’s reaction and clearly wanted the two of us standing by should Malfoy need our help. 

“Draco, what’s going on?” Ben asked, still glancing nervously around the room, then at Draco, who had his head resting in his hands. 

“Is everything okay, Angel Face? Are _we_ okay?”

“No,” Draco sighed finally, lifting his head and pinning Ben with a stare. “We’re not.” 

“Shit,” Ben muttered, leaning back on the sofa and rubbing at his eyes.

“I did something stupid, didn’t I?” he asked, and I felt a bit sorry for him because, Merlin, if he didn’t remind me of me talking with Hermione when she gave me _that_ look. 

“On the train from London to here?” Ben continued. “I didn’t punch that guy, did I? I know he’s your schoolmate and all, but I don’t like him. I don’t like the way he looks at you. I don’t like his vibe.”

He paused and looked Draco in the eye.

“He wants to be more than friends, you know that, right?” 

Draco let out a little chuckle then sobered, staring at Ben once again. 

“Aww, Sweet Pea, don’t stare at me like that,” he begged, and I glanced at Blaise, mouthing yet another of Ben’s endearments with a questioning look.

Blaise just smirked and rolled his eyes. 

“I hate it when you stare at me like that - like you’re reading my mind or something.”

“I am,” Draco replied earnestly, and Ben faltered. 

“Stop being weird, you know you can’t read minds,” he chided, frowning at Draco.

“When you were a child, maybe five or six, you got a hold of your cousin, Frankie’s, baseball bat and thought you’d practise hitting a few balls. It took a couple of tries but you finally hit one and it went so far and you were so proud, but then you heard Frankie laughing behind you, and….”

“What the fuck?” Ben looked terrified and outraged, staring at Draco in horror. 

“How do you… what are? What the fuck?” he asked again, looking worriedly around the library again. 

“Ben, I’m really struggling with how to tell you this, seeing as you reacted so spectacularly the last time,” Draco was saying, Ben muttering something about ‘what last time?’

“Unfortunately, we’re in, what is most likely, a very dangerous situation, and I just don’t have that luxury of coddling you through this right now, so I’m just going to spit it out….”

“Good,” Ben replied with an emphatic nod. “That’s what I love about you. You don’t beat around the bush.” 

“I’m a wizard. I can do magic. I can read minds,” Draco said, sitting up straight and observing Ben carefully. 

Ben’s eyes were comically wide, and he opened his mouth, finger pointing at Draco.

“And, I have a feeling you’re about to start screaming some bullshit about being of the devil, and whatever, so just save us both the drama and _don’t_ , because we don’t have the fucking time.” 

Ben’s mouth snapped shut, apparently well-trained in how to behave when Draco launched into a full tirade. 

“Are you reading my mind again?”

“No,” Draco replied, sounding tired again. “I don’t do that unless I have to… it’s not very nice.”

He glanced warily over at Ben. 

“Are you… ready for another shock?” 

“I don’t think I’m really being offered a choice, am I?” 

“It’s not 2004,” Draco began hesitantly. “It’s… 2009.” 

“What?” Ben whispered, looking absolutely stunned, and I glanced at Blaise again, wondering if we might need to help administer a calming draught or something.

“How… but… I….”

“Someone altered your memory,” Draco answered. 

“Are we?” Ben asked, gesturing between the two of them and Draco gave a little chuckle and smiled sadly.

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “We’ve been split for nearly four years.” 

Ben looked stunned, and, again, I felt sorry for the bloke. 

Could you imagine thinking you were madly in love with someone only to find out you’d been broken up for four years?

I’d go mental. 

“Four years?” he whispered, staring up at Draco, actual tears welling up in his eyes. 

“Why?” he asked, sounding actually fucking heartbroken. “What happened?” 

“You… didn’t take so well to me being a wizard.”

“I’d say I’m handling it pretty well,” Ben huffed, flinging himself backwards on the sofa and crossing his arms to glare at Draco.

“I meant the last time,” Draco reminded him. 

“I’m sure you were just being dramatic,” Ben argued. 

“You flung a phial of holy water at me and held up a fucking crucifix so I couldn’t touch you… just so you know, that’s strictly vampire lore, and doesn’t affect me….”

“Oh,” Ben mumbled, voice suddenly going very small. 

"You’re taking it a million times better, this time around, I must say,” Draco mused.

“Yeah, well… technically I’m five years older than I think I am, so maybe I’ve finally grown up, or somethin’….” Ben quipped. 

“Too bad though, what if we were still together, hmm?”

“I wouldn’t waste your time on that. I’ve moved on, as have you, I’m sure.”

Draco gave him a pointed stare, and Ben flashed an impish grin.

“I _do_ hate being alone,” he admitted sheepishly. “So that Harry guy, then?” 

“You’re lucky he didn’t hex you into the next millennium,” Draco confirmed with a wry smile and Ben nodded. 

“So, he’s a… wizard, too?”

Draco nodded. 

“And… this person who fucked with my memory?”

“Definitely wizard. And a bloody evil one, at that.”

“There are good ones and evil ones?” Ben asked, seeming to be surprised by this.

Draco stared back at him, brows raised.

“What do you think we all are?” he asked, gesturing around the library, and Ben finally tore his eyes from Draco to take in what was happening around him. 

Harry and Hermione had their heads bent over a book, Mione gesturing excitedly. 

Ginny and Pansy were also flipping through a book, both of them clearly explaining things to Micah as they went.

Blaise and I, caught in the act of blatantly eavesdropping, just waved and grinned. 

“I dunno. I just thought all witches and wizards were evil. 

“I mean, what do _good_ ones do?” 

“Mostly keep the evil ones from fucking shit up,” Blaise called out, and Draco and I sniggered a bit at that.

“Do you think we’d be able to reverse the memory charm?” I asked, Blaise and I sauntering back over to the two of them, Blaise settling down on the sofa next to Malfoy, and me flinging myself casually into the overstuffed armchair between the two sofas.

“I’ve tried. No luck so far.” 

Ben positively blanched when Blaise pointed his wand at him and cast a memory charm-reversing spell. 

“Blaise,” Draco snapped, hand shoving his wand down. “You know, when someone’s a tad wary of the whole magic business, it’s quite rude to go shoving your wand in their face.” 

“Most people seem quite pleased when I shove my wand in their face,” Blaise shot back, a bit juvenile, yes, but funny all the same.

Draco snorted.

“If that’s the size of the wand you’re working with, then it’s probably just pity.” 

“Still a sassy, cocky, cocksucker, just like always, huh?” Ben joked.

“I unabashedly admit to all three,” Draco retorted. 

“Why would someone be using Ben to come after you?” Blaise asked, steering us back on topic. “We need to find possible answers to that question if we’re going to figure anything out.” 

“It seems as though they’re trying to distract you,” I mused. “Get you away from Harry.”

“You think someone’s after Harry, then?” Draco asked, bolting upright, eyes seeking Harry, now searching shelves in the upper level of the library, as though making sure he was still here, safe at the manor. 

“No…” Blaise said slowly. “I think someone’s trying to distract you _from_ Harry.” 

“How’s that work?” Ben asked, frowning. “I mean, no, like, for real, I get the using me to try and distract Draco part, but how does that help them out? 

“If I’m following correctly, Draco’s supposed to toss Harry aside for me or something, and then what?”

For some reason, he looked at me expectantly. 

I shrugged and glanced at Draco and Blaise. 

“You need to think like a _Dark_ wizard,” Blaise informed me, and I couldn’t help the grimace that came across my face.

“What, they’re gonna mess me up and toss me aside?” Ben asked.

“Sure,” Draco replied, darkly. “We’ll go with that.” 

Ben shuddered and we sat in silence for a moment, when suddenly, a platter of sandwiches and cakes appeared on the table before us along with a large pot of tea and a pitcher of chilled pumpkin juice.

“Excellent,” I said, reaching forward and grabbing a sandwich. 

“Where’d that come from?” Ben asked, watching cautiously as Draco and Blaise each helped themselves to a sandwich. 

“Bessie, my house-elf,” Draco replied, chewing thoughtfully. “She looked like a regular housekeeper to you, but she’s a magical creature.”

Draco gestured at the tray.

“Go on,” he encouraged with a smirk. “You always loved Bessie’s food in the past. Finding out she’s magic shouldn’t change that.”

Ben nodded and reached for a sandwich at last, still seeming hesitant.

We sat in silence, chewing and thinking for a bit, when a thought came to me, suddenly. 

“What about your neighbour?” I asked, feeling that familiar rush of anticipation and apprehension. 

“My neighbour?” Draco asked, frowning. 

“The one from Boston,” I reminded him. “Pansy brought him up?”

I turned back to Ben.

“Pansy said you hated him because he was obsessed with Draco.” 

“Oh, god!” Ben looked as though he’d just eaten something foul. 

“Fuck, don’t even get me started on that lunatic,” he went on. “I know I’m… I _was_ clingy and possessive, but that motherfucker was _gross_.” 

“You mean that kid who lived next door?” Draco asked.

“Yeah,” I replied. “You lived in the Boston MACUSA building, right? So he was probably a wizard.”

I turned back to Ben, who seemed to know more about this character than Draco did.

“Was he single? I mean, if he was single, there’s no way he’s _not_ a wizard.”

“Of course he was single,” Ben replied. “Always staring at this one, and, don’t get me wrong, I check out hot guys all the time, but there’s eyeing a dude and undressing him with your eyes… and…” 

Ben paused and shuddered.

“…creepy-like too,” he finished. 

“This wasn’t just me being wicked protective of Draco,” he went on.

“I get weirded out when _anyone_ looks at someone like that… like they’re a fucking piece of meat on display at the market or something… it’s fucking _gross_.” 

“So…” Blaise smirked over at me. “We have a suspect.”

“Oi, Mione… all of you, come here, we’ve got an idea,” I shouted.

The group meandered over, a selection of books and parchments floating behind them.

“Hiya,” Micah grinned as she and Ginny perched themselves on the sofa next to Ben. “We’re both Muggle and both from Boston! We can talk about that more later, though.” 

Pansy shoved Blaise over and positioned herself between Draco and Blaise, and Harry glanced around hesitantly, before just sort of standing awkwardly between the armchair Hermione and I were sharing and the sofa with Draco.

“Go ahead, lovie,” Ben encouraged, grinning at Harry and gesturing at the sofa. 

“I’m all caught up… know what year it is, that we’re no longer a thing… that I’m lucky you didn’t hex me into the next millennium or something?”

“I would have done, too,” Harry assured him, and Blaise shuddered.

“Merlin, mate, that’s fucking frightening.”

Harry smirked over at him and Ben blinked at us all, completely unaware. 

“You have no idea how powerful this one here is,” Blaise went on, jerking a thumb over at Harry. “He’s probably the most powerful wizard out there.”

“Probably?” Hermione repeated, throwing her head back and laughing.

“Oh, shut up,” Harry snapped, glaring at the two of them. 

“It’s silly, really,” he added, glancing over at Ben, as though worried that he might be anxious or put out. 

“No, I know how that works,” Ben replied, looking at Harry with respect in his eyes. 

“Where I grew up, the quiet one was the one who ruled the street. I get it.” 

I couldn’t help but bloody beam at that, and even Harry, who was usually so embarrassed about his powers, managed a grateful smile in Ben’s direction as he sat beside Draco.

Draco immediately pulled Harry closer, nuzzling his hair, and inhaling deeply, as though he’d been longing to hold him all evening, and any tiny fear I might have had that Draco was harbouring romantic feelings towards his ex vanished. 

“So what’s this theory you’ve worked out?” Hermione asked, bringing us back to attention, as usual.

“Ron came up with it,” Draco admitted, and I couldn’t help but shrug and smile sheepishly.

“It’s just a theory,” I began. “But since Pansy had mentioned that weird neighbour of Draco and Ben’s back in Boston, I thought, what if he’s involved somehow? 

“If someone’s trying to get Draco’s attention and using Ben, he’d be a suspect, right?”

I glanced at Draco, then Ben. 

“I mean, how many people in London… Wizarding London, know about you and Ben, anyway?” 

“Not many, I’d imagine,” Blaise reasoned. “Honestly, you’ve got a solid suspect here, Ron.” 

“You really think there’s some bloke who’s been obsessed with Draco for the past six years?” Harry asked.

“Ow,” he groaned, almost immediately, rubbing at the back of his neck and glaring at Draco.

“What was that for?” 

“Oh, wait, I apologise, let me try again,” Harry drawled, rolling his eyes. “Of _course_ there’s this bloke who’s been obsessed with Draco for the past six years, how could anyone not? With that beautiful bone structure and exquisite personality and all….” 

“That’s better,” Draco approved with a small nod and a satisfied smile. 

“You ever just stare at him and try and decide whether you wanna strangle him or kiss him?” Ben asked innocently. 

“Constantly,” Harry replied, laughing as he settled into Draco’s embrace once more. 

“But I was serious, though,” he continued. “Do we think this bloke’s been keeping tabs on Draco from Boston? Or is he in England somewhere?” 

“Well, what’s his name?” Hermione asked. “We can see if he’s been given a work visa.” 

We all turned to look at Ben and Draco expectantly. 

“I don’t know,” Draco shrugged. 

“Me either,” Ben admitted. “I just called him Creeper.” 

“Do you think this is related to the Erised app?” Blaise asked.

“I’m sure it is,” Hermione replied, glancing at Draco.

“Oh, the fucking irony,” he snorted. 

“What’s the Erised app?” asked Ben, and we all launched into a summary of that stupid app and how it’d been affecting our lives for the better part of the year.

We were just wrapping up when Narcissa appeared, and even I could tell that she seemed apprehensive.

“Someone is trying to enter the wards,” she announced. 

Outside, the strident cries of the peacocks carried across the gardens as they shrieked and honked at the hopeful intruder below. 

“What?” Draco stood and crossed the room to stand beside his mother, wand swishing as he did so, and a giant blueprint of the manor and the Malfoy estate hovered suddenly before us. 

There were several red dots outlining the perimeter of the property, showing where someone had tried to weaken or break through the wards.

“This bloke’s a fucking lunatic,” Draco muttered. “Why does he keep trying? Does he think he’s going to find a way in?” 

He sighed and rubbed at his temples again.

“Honestly, at this point, he could just state his business at the gates and I’d probably let him in just to get this all over with….”

Another red dot appeared on the opposite side of the estate, and we watched as another appeared just a few metres down. 

Then, nothing.

We sat, eyes waiting for another dot, ears straining as the cries of the peacocks died away, until it was silent again.

“How’d he find the manor?” Pansy asked, arching a brow in Draco’s direction. “It’s unplottable.” 

Draco frowned, then stared suddenly at Ben.

“You,” he said. “He’s put a tracking charm on you.” 

“What’s that mean?” Ben asked worriedly, hands flying up to pat himself up and down along his torso as though he might feel some sort of device there. “Is that dangerous?”

“Not the spell itself,” Draco assured him. “It just means he’ll always know where you are.” 

Draco flicked his wand at Ben, then smiled.

“Or did,” he corrected, and Ben looked very relieved. 

“Now, what?” Blaise asked. 

“We wait,” Draco replied. “I’m sure he won’t be too happy about his tracking charm being disabled.” 

“His move, then?” I asked and Draco nodded as he sat back down beside Harry. 

“How are you?” Harry asked softly, and I felt like an idiot.

All of us looked a little guilty, actually, none of us thinking to see how Malfoy was handling the realisation that there was a bloody lunatic obsessed with him.

Actually, I supposed, out of all of us, Harry could certainly relate. 

I mean, Voldemort hadn’t been obsessed with Harry romantically, obviously, but he’d been obsessed.

“I’m alright,” Draco replied. “Kind of annoyed, actually. This is _not_ how I’d envisioned spending my weekend.” 

“Do the sandwiches just keep coming?” Ben asked, staring at the still-full platter of sandwiches and cakes on the table.

“They do when Bessie’s taking care of Draco,” Narcissa answered, smiling fondly over at her son who grinned back as he grabbed a piece of chocolate cake, and the rest of us followed suit, devouring the platter of sandwiches and the most incredible chocolate cake I'd ever tasted in my entire life. 

About a half-hour had passed when Ben groaned and clutched at his stomach.

“I don’t feel right,” he informed us, eyes staring up at Draco fearfully. 

“What do you mean?” Draco asked, on his feet immediately, as Micah reached out a hand to press the back of her palm to Ben’s forehead.

“I don’t know,” he mumbled, still clutching at his belly. “I feel weird and clammy and like I might throw up.” 

“Would some water help?” Hermione asked, casting an Aguamenti at a glass and raising it carefully to his lips, one hand gently rubbing his shoulder.

“It’s probably been a very stressful day for you,” Micah was saying, still rubbing soothing circles on his back.

Draco was moving Ben around to look this way and that, running diagnostic spells when suddenly he gasped and Ben’s entire body twitched and gave off an eerie flash, and everything seemed like it was moving in slow-motion, but, in reality, took less than two seconds. 

“The fuck?” Ben shouted as Draco turned his head to find Harry.

“Harry,” he croaked, one hand reaching out to Harry while the other sought contact with Ben in any way possible, ending up bopping him on the cheek.

Harry had leapt immediately, grabbing Draco’s hand the second he’d held it out.

And then all five of them — Ben, Draco, Harry, Hermione, and Micah — were gone.

“Merlin, fuck me,” gasped Blaise, looking a bit sick himself. “He made Ben a Portkey.” 

It was fucking chaos.

“Where did they go?” Ginny was crying. “How are we going to find them? Micah’s going to be so scared!”

“How the bloody hell do you make a person a Portkey?” Pansy was demanding.

“We’ve got to Floo Robles,” I said. “The entire force needs to be on this.”

“But we’ve got to go, too!” Pansy insisted. “I’m not leaving Draco to go face that idiot on his own!”

“Of course we’re going, but we need to figure out where we’re going _to_ ,” I replied.

We continued like this, a frenzied, unorganised, screaming mess, until:

“Excuse me.”

It was Narcissa. 

“I might be able to help,” she continued, and we all turned to look at her expectantly. 

“I had a tracking charm of my own placed on Draco the day he was born,” she explained. “I haven’t used it since he was a toddler and would run off and get lost in the woods or the labyrinth, but I can’t imagine it doesn’t still work.”

She took a deep breath and whispered the incantation, flicking her wand as she did so.

A shimmering map of England appeared, showing a green dot in Wiltshire, which I assumed was us.

A few seconds later, a pin labelled “Mummy’s Ducky” appeared in Devon. 

Pansy, Blaise, and I couldn’t help but snigger a little at Draco’s toddler moniker, and Narcissa even smiled sheepishly.

“Yes, well,” she said. “We probably shouldn’t tell Draco about that part.” 

She swished her wand again, and the map zoomed in on “Mummy’s Ducky” to show that they were in Dartmoor.

Narcissa continued to zoom in until we located Draco’s exact coordinates in Dartmoor National Park.

“Let’s go,” I said, and she held up a hand.

“Make sure you’ve got everything you need and that your enforcements are on their way before you go,” she instructed. 

“He selected a remote location for a reason.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. I don't know why Harry and Draco arrive last, but I just liked the idea of them appearing and Draco's in full-work defence mode and casting spells? Maybe they apparated to the London flat for something or other first? Walked further away before apparating? Who knows... reader's choice, lol. 
> 
> 2\. I decided Ben would react so differently because, as he mentioned, he's actually much older and probably has matured, but also, given the situation where he knows his memory has been altered and he's kind of got to rely on Draco and the gang to get him out of this, so... yeah. 
> 
> 3\. Ben is fine. Or, you know, not dead or horribly injured, at least.
> 
> 4\. Oh.... things are winding down! There are just TWO chapters left! And they're drafted and ready to go... as soon as I actually write them. Hopefully over the weekend!


	49. Shattered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm not really sure how to even summarise this.
> 
> We find out where Harry, Draco, Hermione, Ben, and Micah were taken to and finally meet our crazy stalker in person.

_Friday Evening_

04 _December 2009_

_Draco’s POV_

We landed in a heap in an alleyway just outside of Hush Mayfair, one of Harry’s and my favourite breakfast spots, and I frowned.

What in Merlin’s name were we doing here?

Even as I was thinking I was scrambling to my feet, checking to see that we were all here, looking for Ben and Micah. 

Harry and Hermione were doing the same, and it only took a minute or so to ascertain that both were fine. 

“I’m really sorry the two of you are being dragged along for this,” I sighed, waving my wand at them to wrap them in the highest level protective shield I knew of, hoping that the fucking lunatic’s previous interferences with Ben wouldn’t hinder the shield in any way. 

“Where are we?” Hermione asked, frowning as we made our way to the restaurant, festooned in twinkling lights and an array of Christmas trees and wreaths for the holidays. 

“Hush Mayfair,” I replied. “We come here for weekend brunch quite a bit.”

“It’s where we had our first breakfast together,” Harry piped up, and I couldn’t help but grin down at him, remembering that awkward first breakfast after we’d finally admitted we liked each other. 

We had just entered the courtyard when Hermione called out.

“Agent Williams! 

“Excellent, you’re here!” she exclaimed, rushing over to him excitedly. “That means the department's already aware.”

Williams looked surprised to see all of us, but he smiled and nodded. 

“Erm… yes. 

“Department Head Bones was adamant we get this all sorted out. Why don’t the two of you get me caught up?”

He glanced at the little entourage behind Hermione and me.

“Looks like you’re ahead of the game,” he added with a wry smile. 

“Should Hermione and Draco have their glamours on as well?” Harry asked, frowning at Williams. 

What?

I glanced at Hermione, who looked just as lost as I was.

“I’m sorry?” Williams asked, frowning back at Harry.

“It’s just, you’re in your glamour, under orders from Department Head Bones, so I just thought maybe they ought to be in theirs as well? 

“I mean if Department Head Bones thinks a glamour is necessary….” Harry trailed off, his indication clear. 

“This is a glamour?” I asked Harry, gesturing at Williams.

“Well, yeah,” Harry replied, looking puzzled. “Don’t you recognise each other’s glamours?”

“Not necessarily,” I replied, noticing out of the corner of my eye that Williams seemed especially fidgety. 

“But as far as Hermione and I know, this _is_ Agent Williams — this is how he looks every day at work.” 

I turned back to him now, realisation setting in. 

“This is a glamour?” 

Williams.

A transfer from MACUSA — Boston, specifically — three years ago. 

Who'd been touted as one of the youngest Secret Agents known in history.

A fucking prodigy, having had a nearly meteoric rise within MACUSA before transferring to London. 

Fuck. 

“You’re him,” Hermione gasped, having come to the same realisation. “Aren’t you?” 

Williams said nothing, but his smirk was all the answer we needed.

“I like the spot you’ve picked,” I said, finally. “Spying on us much?” 

“I aim to please,” Williams replied cryptically.

“So why the full glamour at work?” I asked. “I don’t see why you would have gone through all the effort.”

“Really?” Williams frowned at me. “You haven’t figured that out?”

He seemed legitimately upset that I'd asked.

“Don’t I remind you of anyone?”

I flicked my gaze over him as though I might make a connection this time.

“No,” I replied, shrugging and shaking my head, which didn’t seem to please Williams at all.

“I think he was tryin’ to look like me, babe,” Ben called out, and I glanced uncertainly from Williams to Ben, back to Williams, then back to Ben, then back to Williams again.

“Do you think all blonds look alike?” I asked, genuinely curious. “I mean, with that logic, you might as well have tried making your glamour look like me.”

“No,” he said, almost dreamily, as though he hadn’t meant to speak out loud. “No one could ever look like you.”

“That was sort of my point,” I replied, not even bothering to keep the look of disgust from flickering across my face. 

“Draco,” Harry hissed urgently, hand grasping frantically at my own. 

“What?” I asked, grabbing his hand and clasping it tightly, drawing Harry closer so he could whisper in my ear. 

“We’re not actually here.” 

I wanted to turn to Harry in disbelief and demand that he explain what the fuck he meant by that, but he was crazy if he thought I was taking my eyes off of Williams right now. 

“This whole place,” Harry continued, hand gripping mine almost too tightly. 

“It’s all an illusion. We’re not really here.” 

As if to prove his point, a table and all of its patrons suddenly vanished, and Williams rounded on Harry, furious.

“What are you _doing_?!” he demanded.

I glanced cautiously back at Harry, who was staring back at Williams, and Merlin, I remembered the last time I’d seen _that_ look in Harry’s eyes — right before Voldermort had collapsed and died like the insignificant mortal he was.

One of the Christmas trees, and then an entire neighbouring building vanished, and Williams made a panicked noise.

“What the fuck, you fucking lunatic!” he shouted.

Oh, right. 

_Harry_ was the lunatic here. 

“Do you have any idea how fuckin’ hard I worked on that?” 

Another table popped away, and I’ll admit, I was more than impressed in my boyfriend’s abilities to vanish complicated glamours like they were fucking bubble wrap. 

“Alright, Harry!” I heard Micah clapping and cheering in the background. “Fuck this creep’s shit up!”

“Shut up, you stupid bitch Muggle!” Williams retorted, wand swishing down towards her, and I turned to deflect whatever spell he’d thrown in her direction when I realised I shouldn’t have even worried.

Not only did Hermione cast a lightning-fast counter-spell and another hex right back at Williams, but Micah also somehow executed a spectacular leap up onto a nearby table, getting her well out of harm’s way. 

“I always hated my mom for insisting on the ballet lessons, but damn,” she mused, with a quick shake of her head. 

Behind her, another row of tables disappeared, and Williams’ turned his attention back to Harry. 

“Stop it!” Williams screeched, running towards the empty space the tables had just occupied. 

Another tree, then a building.

“I. SAID. STOP. IT!!!” 

Williams’ chest was heaving with each breath he took and he spun round to glare at Harry, eyes flashing.

Harry just smirked, and I felt an almost incomprehensible surge of energy, then Williams’ entire created world came collapsing down and we found ourselves in the middle of a cold, rainy moor, far away from anyone or anything.

“Oops,” said Harry, not sounding the least bit sorry, and I made sure to save this particular memory so I could laugh and relish in my boyfriend’s snark when I wasn’t so preoccupied. 

Hermione, bless her, had cast an impervious and warming spell at Ben and Micah to shield them from the rain and cold out on the moor, both of them staring at Harry in complete awe, having, I supposed, finally realised what we meant when we told them Harry was a powerful wizard.

“WHY DO YOU HAVE TO RUIN EVERYTHING?!?!” Williams screamed, the wind and the rain and the bleak backdrop of the moor only adding to the sinister drama of the scene. 

“I mean, I _did_ save the world from Voldemort; I hardly call that ruining everything,” Harry shot back. 

“I’m not talking about that, you fucking idiot,” Williams shouted back. “I’m talking about _him._ ” 

He flung an arm in my general direction, and I admit I felt well and properly grossed out that I’d spent so much time in Williams’ presence, completely unaware that he’d been so obsessed with me.

“He’s supposed to be _mine!_ ” Williams was shrieking, and I couldn’t help the grimace that flitted across my face. 

You, honestly, can’t imagine how gross I felt; I was going to have to soak in the tub for hours once this was over to feel clean again.

“I hate to break it to you,” I spoke up. “But even if I weren’t with Harry, I still wouldn’t be with you. 

“I’d _never_ be with someone like you.”

“Never?” Williams retorted. “That’s rich. You don’t even _know_ me.”

“No,” I agreed. “But you’ve always given me the creeps, and now I know why….”

I paused and raked my gaze over Williams.

“You _are_ him, though, right? Our creepy neighbour from Boston?” I asked. “That annoying kid who would stare at me all the time?” 

“I was _not_ a kid!” he insisted. “You only needed to give me a chance, and you wouldn’t even _look_ at me! 

“None of this would have happened, but _no_ , you had to go fall for a stupid, crass, Southie idiot who was never even good enough for you! 

“Why would you _do_ that to yourself, Draco?” 

I bristled at the slurs he’d just thrown at Ben, my defences rising as they always had whenever anyone had questioned his background and where he was raised.

As though that were really a fucking determining factor in someone’s worth. 

I mean, look where I grew up and how I’d almost turned out. 

“I don’t know what made you think you and I could ever be a thing,” I began, eyes trailing up and down over him warily. 

“But your opinion on how to judge a person’s character and worth informs me that this would have _never_ worked out, even if you didn’t give me the fucking creeps.” 

Williams just smirked and shook his head.

Then he laughed.

A fucking cold, shrill cackle that would have made Voldemort fucking jealous. 

“What the bloody hell was that?” Ron asked suddenly, and I broke protocol and whirled around to see Ron, Blaise, and Hermione standing behind me with Harry, while Pansy and Ginny were standing protectively in front of Ben and Micah. 

Behind them, I spied Robles, Department Head Bones, and a team of Aurors were landing and running to our aid, shielded by a powerful Invisibility spell that alerted only a select few to see them. 

Hermione was giving Bones a look, as though asking her to hold back until we had a confession, and she nodded, wand still held at the ready, as she gestured for the rest of the invisible team to fall in line behind her. 

“It was me, laughing,” Williams retorted, a stunning hex blasting suddenly out the tip of his wand, which Ron deftly outmanoeuvred, sending another hex towards Williams as Blaise quickly cast a protective charm around the lot of us.

“How did you…” I began to ask.

“Later,” Blaise replied, eyes still focused on Williams. 

“You should stop being so smug, Draco,” Williams told me, twirling his wand and smirking over at our little group. 

“I’m going to break you,” he continued in an eerie sing-song voice. 

“I’m going to break you so badly that I’ll be the only one who’ll be able to put you back together, and then can be together, the way we’re meant to be.”

Okay, so Williams saying this shit to me was legit terrifying. 

Fuck.

I wanted to get out of here. 

“How you’ve managed to work as an Unspeakable in the Love room for so long baffles me,” I drawled instead, thankful that my iron-clad poker face was holding up. 

“You’ve clearly no idea how the concept works,” I added, frowning at him.

“Have you ever considered giving up your ridiculous obsession with me and tried dating blokes on your own? Maybe give up the creep act?

“You might find someone actually interested if you tried having a real life and weren’t obsessively stalking me.” 

“Don’t worry, I do,” he assured me, smirking. 

“I get out all the time,” he went on, and, for some reason, the look in his eyes made me feel sick all over again. 

“I’ve even been with your _darling_ Ben and your _sweet_ Harry… more than once, even. 

“I ought to thank them for having such open minds and for the lovely insights as to what a naughty, goddamned _kinky_ boy you can be, Draco.”

I’d never worked so hard to swallow the bile rising in my throat at that, and I was so creeped out that I didn’t even care that he’d just told my entire bloody department far more about my sex life than I ever would have wanted them to know. 

I glanced at Harry and Ben to see what they were making of his confession — both were staring at him curiously. 

“I’ve never even seen you before, ya fuckin’ tool,” Ben, bless his belligerent little heart, shouted back, while Micah, gods, I loved her, flipped him off with both hands. 

“You’re damn lucky you got your magic to help protect you,” Ben continued. “If it were just up to fists alone, you know damn well I’d pulverise your stupid creep face into a bloody pulp.”

I knew Ben well enough to know that he wasn’t shouting back at Williams completely unaware of what he was up against, but that his character — as a boy raised in the rough and tumble streets of South Boston — wouldn’t let him go down quietly; he was going to say what he bloody well meant and go down fighting to his last breath, and no one in their right mind was ever going to call him a coward. 

My musings were interrupted as Williams’ appearance began to change, flipping through several glamours. 

Harry and Ben both looked sick, alternately groaning and clutching at their bellies, or holding a hand to their mouths as they recognised past partners, and I blanched myself.

The fucking sick bastard.

How fucking gross and desperate could you get? 

Williams was cackling with glee when he paused and fixed us all with a stare. 

“But I’m sure you and all your buddies will recognise the _real_ me,” he taunted softly, features morphing and blending once more until we all gasped.

Tristan. 

Fucking _Tristan?!_

“Hello!” Williams chirped cheerfully, giving us a little wave. 

“Thought I was just a stupid Muggle, hmm, Draco?” he smirked. “I wanted to be sure you saw the _real_ me when I cast the app, but I had a feeling you’d be plucking around my brain when I pulled your Harry that night, so I layered in some stupid, mundane thoughts and buried my own, and, well… I guess it worked, hmm?” 

He frowned, suddenly.

“Unfortunately, for me, when I cast that damn app into your phone, you must have accidentally looked at _him_ ,” he finished, shooting Harry a dirty look, as though this were entirely his fault. 

“Of course, it all makes sense now,” he went on.

“Why, when I ran into you and Hermione at lunch a few days later, eager to see how the app had progressed, you still weren’t able to stop thinking about _him_ for one second.”

Williams smirked at Harry and me.

“Draco only loves you because of my app,” he stated gleefully. 

“None of this is real,” he added, gesturing between Harry and me, and I started, glancing at Harry to see if he was thinking the same thing I was. 

His little smirk told me he was.

“Joke’s on you, Williams,” I shot back joyfully, almost giddy with glee as Violet’s prophecy clicked into place. 

“A little petal warned Harry and me about this exact situation, didn’t she, love?”

Harry beamed back at me before smirking over at Williams.

“She sure did,” he replied. 

“No,” Williams countered. “The app worked. I _know_ it.” 

“Impossible,” I retorted, deciding to bare all. “I put a protective spell over both our mobiles. Your stupid app didn’t stand a chance.”

I all but rolled my eyes, glancing behind me at Ron and Blaise, wondering if we should get the arrest of this nutter underway. 

“I _created_ the goddamned thing, know it’s every feature and detail, and I _know_ it downloaded into your phone. 

“I even downloaded it a second time, when you and Hary were at breakfast to be sure. Why do you think I set up our meeting tonight to look like the place you first had breakfast together?” he added, and I turned back to stare at him curiously, holding a hand up behind me, silently asking the Aurors to stay back.

He shook his head again. 

“I couldn’t understand why it wasn’t working when the app said it had downloaded successfully, but you were still so oblivious. 

“It wasn’t until that night when that stupid bitch Ethel jumped out of her window, and you figured out that she’d looked at the wrong person, that I put it all together.”

He rounded on Harry suddenly, and I turned to protect him.

Not that I should have bothered, with the almost bored look Harry gave him as he flung Williams a few metres, crashing into a small mound in the distance. 

“Fuck you!” Williams screeched, re-Apparating to stand just before Harry. 

“You think you’re so fucking powerful, do you?” he screamed, starting to go red in the face.

“I don’t _think_ I’m powerful, no,” Harry replied, almost lazily, and I couldn’t help but stare, open-mouthed, as an entire hillside crumbled and pulverised into dust.

“Honestly, I ought to maybe thank you for bringing us out here,” Harry went on, another hillside crumbling. 

“I don’t really get to let _go_ like this in downtown London, Muggle or Wizard,” he added, smiling happily, like a kid set loose on a playground, as a huge boulder went sailing through the air and the very ground beneath us gave a trembling shudder. 

“You were there,” Williams accused, so incensed and demented, he was indifferent to Harry’s unabashed display of power. 

“You were there both times,” he went on. “Draco must have looked at you both times, even though I was so careful…”

“I suppose Draco does enjoy looking at me,” Harry replied, and I couldn’t help the snort of laughter that escaped me then.

“I absolutely do, love,” I assured him, eyes trailing down his body despite the less-than-romantic situation we were currently trapped in. 

My attention snapped back to the situation at hand when I saw that Bones was motioning at us to get more details out of Williams.

“So… you created the app?” Hermione was asking. “All by yourself?” 

“Of course,” he replied, witheringly. “As though I was going to share him with anyone else.” 

“Then why sell it on Knockturn Alley?” she continued. “You did sell it on Knockturn Alley, didn’t you?” 

“You know damned well that I did,” he replied, rolling his eyes. “But only to test it.

“I didn't want to use it on Draco until it was perfect. He only deserves the best.”

I forced myself to ignore the feeling of disgust that washed over me as Hermione continued.

“And… you put the app on Draco’s phone that one night when we were all at the pub?”

“Yes,” Williams sighed in exasperation. “And then again a few mornings after when he and Harry were at breakfast.”

“That’s impossible, though,” I insisted. “I’d already placed the protection spells on my mobile, and before you get all cocky and tell me you know your way around a silly little protection spell, let me inform you that you don’t. 

“I know spells that you couldn't even _dream_ of.” 

And, for once, I was glad my father had tried so hard to raise me to be such an evil little shit.

“Not to mention,” I continued, frowning. “I never take my mobile out when I’m with company… fucking manners, Williams, honestly.” 

“Yes, you _did_! You had it!” he shouted. “I saw it, _both_ times! It was right in front of you!”

I frowned at Williams, puzzled.

“Harry…” Hermione spoke up, quietly. “You… you left your mobile at the pub that night.”

She didn’t need to remind us that I’d been seated directly across from Harry then, his mobile in plain sight just between the two of us.

Harry, however, just laughed.

“Mione, you don’t think Draco protected my mobile with the same spell he used on his?”

There was a rushing sound, like the roar of an engine approaching, growing louder and wilder, pounding in my ears. 

Because I hadn’t thought to protect Harry’s mobile until after both events Williams was referring to — when I'd accidentally answered Hermione’s call that time Harry had skipped out on Sunday lunch. 

My heart was beating twice as fast as normal and I forced myself to take a deep breath, but the rushing noise just kept getting louder and louder.

“Harry,” I managed, reaching a hand out towards him. “Give me your mobile.”

Harry frowned and dug in his pocket, producing the device, and handed it to me.

I unlocked it and began frantically flipping through the screens, feeling a premature sense of relief as I scrolled through, until…

No. 

It couldn’t be.

NO.

There it was, almost mocking me, the way it was shimmering from the last spot on the last page of Harry’s apps, with all the other apps he’d downloaded and forgotten about over the past few months. 

My hand was shaking almost uncontrollably as I clicked it open, and I couldn’t stop the anguished cry that tore from my mouth when the app opened and I saw my own face, winking and flirting with Harry. 

I managed to look at him, the thundering ringing louder in my ears with each passing second until I couldn’t hear anything else, and I knew my breath was coming in panicked gulps.

“What?” he asked as I handed his mobile back to him.

Harry stared at it for a second, then back at me.

“What does this mean?” he asked.

“It means,” I managed, as the noise in my head reached a deafening roar and the tears prickling behind my eyelids warned that they were about to tumble, Malfoy upbringing and façade be damned.

“It means that none of this was real.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Take a deep breath.
> 
> Click "Next Chapter."
> 
> We'll be okay.


	50. Fin

_Friday Evening_

04 _December 2009_

_Draco’s POV_

I was sitting cross-legged beneath the warm, drenching spray of the rainforest shower in my bathroom — it had always been my sanctuary.

My escape.

But it wasn’t helping to distract me any from the sobs wracking my body as I cried in a way I hadn’t even known was possible until now.

None of it had been real. 

Harry had been under the influence of the app almost the entire time.

Fuck.

How had I been so _stupid_?

Every moment I’d spent beaming at Harry, wondering how I was so lucky and how our life together could possibly be real, only to realise it wasn’t.

I slumped down and curled into a little ball, wishing I had never even existed, because how the fuck would I ever recover from this?

From Harry?

Maybe I could convince him to stay with me out of pity, or hope the app kept him glued to my side, and I snorted and half-choked on my snot as I realised that, despite my heartache, a Harry who wasn’t actually mine wasn’t the Harry that I wanted. 

Well, at least I wasn’t a fucking nutter, like Williams, I consoled myself.

I hoped that fucker had what was coming for him.

In the few moments before I’d Disapparated, I’d seen Bones and her crew, including Ron and Blaise, coming out of the darkness, advancing on Williams, and I had no doubt he was now in custody, where he fucking belonged. 

I wiped at my face again, not for the tears.

The water streaming down from the shower took care of that.

But someone, please explain to me why one’s body produced snot in quintuple fold when one was crying ugly tears? 

How the fuck did that actually work?

Explain it to me, please.

I really needed a fucking distraction right now. 

I lay there, Merlin knows how long, curled up and sobbing beneath the spray, trying to ignore the memories of Harry my brain was flashing at me.

Because there were so many.

I almost laughed, thinking back to the first time we’d fucked, compliments of Grindr, how lucky I’d thought myself, able to live out my schoolboy fantasies for just one evening.

And then, somehow, those evenings had just kept happening.

And now I was so blissfully, stupidly in love with him that I didn’t know how I was ever going to get up out of this shower and continue with my life.

Maybe I wouldn’t.

I considered the Prophet Headlines.

“Malfoy Heir Incapacitated due to Split with Boy Wonder.” 

I groaned and sobbed and hiccoughed all at once, and curled myself more tightly into a ball as if that would somehow help.

“Draco?” 

No. 

Fuck me. This wasn’t happening.

How the fuck was _he_ here?

I’d adjusted my wards and everything. 

I squeezed my eyes shut and curled even more tightly, angling myself so my back was facing him, protecting myself like a wounded animal.

“Draco, hon… oh, no….”

So he really was here, then.

I didn’t respond, just kept myself curled up and hoped I was hallucinating.

“Draco, please,” Harry’s voice sounded raw. “Please sit up.”

“No.”

A warm hand covered mine, and I made to tug it away, but Harry clamped down on it.

“Draco,” he sounded stern, suddenly. 

“Sit up, please?” he sighed, tugging at my hand again.

“Why are you here?” I complained. “Thought you’d come to rub it in?”

“Rub it in?” Harry repeated, then huffed a great sigh. 

“Merlin, no Draco,” he tried again. “Absolutely not. Sit up, come on.”

“No.” 

“It’s really important. I need to talk to you.”

“Fuck you,” I sobbed, a fresh wave of tears taking over. 

“Some nerve you have, coming here to gloat about what a simpering, stupid idiot you’ve made of me.

“Bit cruel, actually,” I sniffled. 

“Draco,” Harry sighed again, one hand caressing me, gently running from my temple, rounding the curve of my head, and tracing down my back before starting the cycle again.

Fuck, but if that didn’t feel wonderful.

Fuck Harry, for teasing me so cruelly like this.

And if that didn’t make my sobs come out even more wrenching and ugly than they had been. 

“Draco,” he was crooning, tugging at my arms, encouraging me to sit up.

“No!” I shouted, pulling my arms back and tucking them safely under my body, well away from his prying hands.

“Draco.”

“Why are you here?” I demanded, embarrassed at how my voice broke.

Like it couldn’t even handle the simple task of _talking_ to Harry now that I knew we’d been a victim of Williams’ plan all along. 

“I told you,” he replied, hands tracing soothing patterns through my hair and down my back. 

“I need to talk to you.”

“I don’t see what we have to talk about,” I muttered, leaning into his caress nevertheless. 

“We have a lot to talk about,” Harry countered, stubbornly.

“Draco, look at me,” he demanded, tugging at my hands, trying to urge me upright again.

“I don’t know why you’re being so mean,” I mumbled. 

“I would never do this to you if our situations were reversed,” I added, another pathetic hiccough-y sob tearing out of me. 

“Draco,” Harry sighed. “I’m not being mean. Will you look at me? Please?”

“No.” 

I tried to calm myself, but _that_ wasn’t fucking happening anytime soon.

“No,” I said again. “I _can’t_ look at you right now. 

“It hurts too much,” I added, curling up more tightly. 

“Do you know how the app works?” Harry asked, and I did my best to ignore him and focus on not letting the sobs wracking my body be too obvious. 

Of course, seeing as how Harry was still trailing his hand through my hair and down my back, he could feel every shudder I was trying to hide, anyway.

“Why are you doing this?” I asked again, so quietly, I’m not even sure Harry heard me.

“They took me in,” Harry continued. “For questioning and to run tests.”

“Turns out, the app was multi-faceted,” and I wondered why Harry was still talking.

Why he was still subjecting me to this torture.

“Please, stop,” I gasped, not caring what I sounded like. 

“It hits you with a Confundus charm first, which, you know, dazes you a bit.”

“Fuck you, Potter,” I growled. 

“And then he layered it with a modified Amortentia, which is supposed to make the intended positively _obsessed_ with how the other person smells.”

Harry leaned down and sniffed at my hair appreciatively, and it was all I could do not to reach up and pull him down and encourage him to continue burrowing his face into my hair and neck like he always did. 

“And, the real kicker,” Harry continued, sitting up straight again.

“It’s, more or less, the Imperius curse, that takes all the desires of the other person, and makes the intended act them out, all but becoming a perfect lapdog, completely smitten, no mind of their own, just existing and carrying out the caster’s fantasies.”

“Why are you doing this to me?” I sobbed, giving up all pretence and sitting up, although I still kept my gaze focused at the golden and copper swirls in the marble beneath me. 

“I don’t know why you want to hurt me,” I sniffled, wiping the back of my hand across my nose, not even caring what I looked like or the fact that probably every Malfoy to have ever existed had just shuddered in their tombs, because had the reigning Lord Malfoy _really_ just used his sleeve to wipe away his snot?

“I don’t want to hurt you, Draco,” Harry replied, one hand caressing my face.

“Please look at me,” he asked again.

“No.”

“Please, it’s really important.”

“I can’t believe you’re really such a fucking evil fuckwad that you’re demanding this from me,” I sniffled. 

“Draco….”

But Merlin, how did he make his voice sound so caring when he was such a right fucking bastard.

“Draco,” he said again, hand gripping my chin and tilting my head up to look at him, and I, childishly, averted my eyes and continued to refuse looking at him. 

Fuck.

I hated him. 

So much.

He smiled down at me, hands tugging at my own to pull me closer.

“Draco, please, I know this is really difficult, love, but…” he paused and licked his lips and I could feel his gaze on me. 

“I really want to be looking at you when I say this,” he continued, one hand grasping both of mine in his lap, the other tilting my face to look at him.

“Fuck. You.” I managed as a fresh wave of tears spilt over because he was a right bastard for making me look at his beautiful green eyes right now. 

“Draco,” he sounded almost exasperated but kept his grip on my face and hands.

“Imperio doesn’t work on me,” he said finally, a little smirk appearing on his face.

I just stared at him.

He grinned and tugged gently at my hands again so that I toppled into his lap.

“I mean, I used to have to work to fight it,” he continued, hands toying with my hair. “But now, I’m not even sure I’d know someone had even tried to cast it.”

I tilted my head to stare up at him in disbelief.

Was he saying what I thought he was saying?

“Hi,” he said, grinning stupidly at me, and I couldn’t help but grin back, the sense of relief and hope flooding through me making me almost weak and giddy.

“You mean….” I stammered. 

Harry nodded.

“This isn’t….”

He shook his head, his smirk reappearing. 

“They ran a full gamut of tests on me,” he admitted. 

“Bones and the entire department. To be sure I wasn’t under the influence of any curses from the app.

“I’ll be honest, the Amortentia bit apparently hit me hard and stuck… and I’ve always been a bit miffed at how obsessed I am with how delicious you smell, but if that’s the only repercussion, I honestly don’t mind.”

Harry leaned down and buried his nose in my neck, inhaling deeply, and I had to admit that I didn’t mind, either.

“So… this _is_ real?” I asked, glancing up at him nervously.

“Yes,” he smiled back, kissing me gently.

“You silly, beautiful man,” he chided, kissing me again. “Like you’d need an app to make someone fall head-over-heels in love with you…

“Because I do… I _love_ you, Draco,” he declared, smirking down at me.   
“And, that means you’re going to be stuck with me for a long time. You’re crazy if you think I’m giving any of this up in this lifetime.”

“You’re crazy if you think you’ll be rid of me after just one lifetime,” I retorted even as I pulled him to me for a kiss, revelling in how warm and soft his mouth was, another shuddering cry rippling through me as I wondered what if I _had_ lost Harry for good and hadn’t thought to kiss him one last time before we’d Apparated to the manor earlier tonight? 

“Draco,” Harry was saying between kisses because neither of us was going to consider stopping for something as silly as talking.

“I’m turning off the water now,” he said as we tumbled to the floor, hands and mouths still seeking each other. “It’s a tad dramatic, even for you.”

“Not dramatic,” I replied, chasing after Harry’s tongue as it teased and taunted my own. “Soothing.”

Harry’s fingers were scrabbling frustratedly at my shirt, which was soaking wet and sticking to my body, so I wordlessly reminded him that we were bloody wizards by vanishing all of our clothing away. 

Dramatic or not, the water only slicked our skin as we moved together, bodies gliding and sliding as hands frantically sought to touch every centimetre of skin possible. 

“Draco,” Harry gasped, mouth latching onto my neck, nose nuzzling into the hair at the nape of my neck as he inhaled deeply. “Please.” 

And next moment, we were in our bed, Harry looking so fucking beautiful as he lay back against the dark blue satin I had to stop and just stare down at him in awe and ask myself once more if he was really mine. 

“Draco?” he asked, propping himself up on his elbows, one hand reaching out to pull me back to him, eyes sliding closed in anticipation, thighs spreading wide as I settled between them. 

I couldn’t help but groan as his long, muscled legs encircled my waist, pulling me closer, while both hands tangled through my hair as our mouths crashed together once more.

I grabbed Harry’s bottom lip between my own, tugging gently with my teeth, cock giving an anxious twitch at the gasp he let out as I returned to lick back into him, tongue exploring and re-mapping every surface and crevice of his mouth. 

He responded just as eagerly, all but begging me to continue ravaging his mouth, body pliant and yielding as his arms and legs pulled and clung to me, urging me closer, leveraging his legs and arms to grind his body up into mine as I pressed down, and Merlin, had any two bodies ever fit together so fucking well?

I doubted it. 

Harry threw his head back as he arched up into me, and I latched onto the pale column of skin he exposed, biting and soothing with my tongue, marking him, because he _was_ mine. 

I had no doubt, now.

The needy groan he let out at that only made me latch onto him again and I ran one hand down his side, pulling away slightly as I trailed my fingers lightly over his hip, tracing down his groin, curving around one lush globe of his arse before delving finally into the crevice, fingers already lubed as I sought his opening, circling it gently with one finger, delighting in the way it pulsed and begged along with the rest of him for my fingers to quit teasing.

I latched on to his mouth again as I pressed in, just to the first knuckle, before withdrawing, Kitten mewling and scrabbling at me in protest, as I pressed in again, this time allowing my lube-slicked digit to slide in halfway before withdrawing again.

“Draco,” he groaned. “Don’t tease. Not now.” 

Yet, despite asking me not to tease, he leaned up and began pressing those signature kitten kisses up into my mouth, and how could I _not_ continue teasing him when he begged and moaned so fucking sweetly? 

I continued to taunt him, sliding my middle finger slowly into the tight heat of him just a little over halfway, then withdrawing, and I settled myself on my right side to gaze down at him as he arched and begged beneath me. 

“Please,” he gasped, eyes snapping open, pinning me with his gaze. 

Again, I could only watch at how fucking beautiful he was as I continued to fuck him slowly, finally adding a second to work him open wider. 

“Draco,” he begged again, arching up off the mattress as I began to twist my fingers into him, searching for that spot, committing the look of ecstasy that flitted across Harry’s face when I found it to memory, fingers slowing slightly as they sought that bundle of nerves on each lazy thrust in and out. 

Merlin, but I loved my Harry like this, incoherent and babbling — almost angry — emerald eyes flashing up at me, he wanted more so badly. 

“Draco, _please_ ,” he whinged, arms reaching up to pull me down to him once more, mouth latching onto mine, tongue rising to tangle with my own as I withdrew my fingers and lined myself up with his entrance, reaching down to slick myself with lube before gently pressing in, groaning, as usual, at how Harry could be so warm and tight while being so yielding all at the same time. 

“Gods, you’re fucking perfect,” I sighed, eyes fluttering shut as I sank myself into him. 

Harry didn’t reply verbally, only wrapped his legs and arms around me, pulling me closer, body pressing into me, demanding that I keep going, and I began to slide in and out of him with the long, measured strokes that seemed to dissolve my Harry into an incoherent, babbling mess, although that plan quickly went to shambles as I lost myself in him, mouth latching on to his neck as my hips drove frantically in and out of him, his own snapping up to meet mine, still demanding more, tongues tangling furiously as we both approached that edge. 

I couldn’t stop the strangled cry that tore out of me as I felt Harry’s body tighten, legs clamping around my waist as his back arched so high off the bed I heard a few joints crack, and I continued to plough into him as my orgasm finally crashed through me and I collapsed, rolling to one side, pulling Harry with me so that we recovered, panting, facing each other, hands still tracing patterns along arms, backs, and faces as tongues still explored, slowing to a lazy pace, until our mouths were just meeting, gently kissing as sleep finally took over. 

***

_Saturday Morning_

05 _December 2009_

_Draco’s POV_

I awoke with a start, the way you sometimes do when you’ve just lived through a traumatic, drama-ridden evening, and your brain - that fucker - forgets to remind you that all was fine and well, and the last thing you remember is that the love of your fucking life wasn’t really yours and was under the spell of a bloody lunatic.

But then I saw Harry, curled up next to me, head resting on his elbow, tucked up behind his head so he could press closer to me, as he always did, and my heart fucking melted as the rest of the evening came flooding back to me. 

Merlin, I was so fucking lucky, I thought, as I leant down to rub my nose against his, pressing a gentle kiss to his mouth, hand trailing down his back and cupping his arse to pull him even closer. 

“Mmm,” he murmured, eyes blinking open as he smiled up at me. “Morning.” 

“Morning,” I replied, frowning as my phone pinged.

I grabbed it to see no fewer than one-hundred and twenty-seven text messages and missed calls, and I rolled my eyes.

“I think Pansy’s worried about me,” I drawled, opening my texting app and sending Pansy a quick message to let her know I was okay and to leave me and Harry alone for the rest of the day. 

And Mum.

And Blaise.

And Hermione and Ron. 

And Micah and Ginny. 

“What happened after I left?” I asked, pulling Harry back towards me. 

“The Aurors swooped in and got him,” Harry replied. “Hermione recorded everything, so I’m sure he’s going to get what’s coming to him.

“Department Head Bones said that Azkaban is nearly ready to reopen after the renovations, and he’ll be there for a long time.” 

“Ben,” I blurted out, sitting up. “Is he?”

“He’s fine,” Harry assured me, sitting up and threading his hands through my hair, soothing me. “They took him to St. Mungo’s and were able to reverse all the spells.

“He chose to keep his memories. All of them.”

Harry glanced up at me.

“They held us in the same room,” he explained. “While they were running my tests.” 

I nodded. 

“So, he remembers everything, then?”

It was Harry’s turn to nod.

“He said he was surprised you even talked to him, the way he acted.” 

“I mean, he’s right,” I frowned. “But also, it was pretty obvious it was a dangerous situation and fraught with Dark magic, so…” 

“I’m glad I got to meet him,” Harry confided, eyes glancing down shyly.

“What, you’re not scared of him, anymore?” I asked, tilting his chin up so I could kiss him soundly on the mouth.

“Yes,” he agreed, nodding happily, then smirking up at me. 

“Also, it helps that he’s, apparently, engaged…. not to mention, I have a feeling anytime I need to vent about a dramatic fit a certain blond is having, he’ll understand exactly where I’m coming from.” 

I glared down at him despite pulling him towards me as we toppled back down into the bed.

“How’d you get past my wards?” I asked, frowning into Harry’s thick tangle of hair. “I set them so they wouldn’t permit you, specifically.” 

“I used the key,” he replied, burrowing into my neck and inhaling deeply.

“The key?” I frowned. 

“Yeah. You gave me one to use for when I’ve had too much to drink and can’t Apparate,” he explained. 

“Wards don’t protect against that.” 

Huh. 

Good to know. 

“Fuck,” I groaned, pulling Harry on top of me as I rolled onto my back. 

“What?” he asked, sitting up and staring down at me, confused.

“The Prophet,” I groaned. “They’re going to be all over this.”

“Oh,” Harry nodded. “Yeah. They were already swarming St. Mungo’s.” 

He paused and bit his lip, eyes not quite meeting mine, and I couldn’t help but roll my eyes.

Honestly, Harry, my sweet, darling, somehow insecure man. 

You’d think I’d been the one to find _him_ sobbing his heart out beneath his rainshower last night and not the other way around.

“I’m not worried about them knowing about us,” I assured him, raising up on my elbows to meet him for a kiss. 

“I just… well,” I sighed. “Whether we like it or not, our private time is over.” 

He sighed as well and then giggled.

“Well,” he quipped. “At least I’ve got my t-shirt ready.”

His hand shot out to catch the shirt from Charlie Weasley and I burst out laughing as we tumbled back into bed, bodies already meeting, neither of us having any intention of dragging ourselves away from each other until absolutely necessary.

***

The front page of Sunday’s Prophet showed a full-page photo of Harry, walking into the stadium for the Magpie’s match Saturday evening wearing the shirt that declared him an “Official Dragon Tamer.” 

“ **The Boy Who Lived in Confirmed Relationship with Ex-Death Eater Draco Malfoy** ,” the headlines proclaimed, and we both groaned.

Naturally, the story about Williams and the Erised App was on the second page. 

“Welcome to our new life,” Harry quipped, chucking the paper aside and clambering on top of me.

Our new life, I thought happily, as Harry flipped over and pulled me down on top of him.

I rather liked the sound of that. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eep! It's the end! 
> 
> I finished my first fic!
> 
> I'm a little sad, posting this, but hope to see all of you back for the sequel (oh, yes. There will be a sequel!)
> 
> Thank you for all your wonderful comments and kudos to keep me going along the way!


	51. The Sequel Begins Now...

I linked it as part of a series, but just in case, you can find the first chapter [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26506972/chapters/64602106)


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